Carpe Noctem & Fiat Lux by ...

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Carpe Noctem & Fiat Lux
An AU Twilight Fan Fiction by queenofgrey
Stephanie Meyer owns
Twilight
.
I do not.
No copyright infringement is intended.
Prologue
Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them.
- Seneca
EDWARD
There is nothing pleasing about the mystery of the unfamiliar. Acclimating myself to new surroundings, new
people, new lies has becomes an age old tradition of mineonethat’sbeenburnedintomybrainacommon
formality of the life I lead. I crave comfort and stability, but, really, that is just a pipe dream, a fantasy that begs me
to loosen my grasp and let it fall by the wayside. Ever changing, never the same, but, still, always the same and
never changing at all.
This specific point in time is new but it teeters on the border of the old familiar. The last time my life intersected
with this point, this place, was so many sleepless nights ago, it might as well have been another life entirely.
Though, really, they were all different lives. Each place that brought me a new character, a new cover, was another
chance to get it all wrong, before moving on to a new place and new events to mar my memories, fill my head with
failure. This place allowed me that so many moons ago, but in the endless circle of my life, it was inevitable I would
return. There was only so much ground to cover and the Olympic Peninsula was simply far too good, too easy to
pass up. So, as I knew I would, I made my way back, leaving the bitter cold of northern Russia for the icy rain and
ambiguity of a life among trees in western Washington.
Under a deep blue cover, with the candles of the sky shining down upon my shoulders, I crossed the Clallam
county line, barely feeling the soles of my shoes give way and turn to nothingness. Cold, hard feet slapped equally
cold, hard ground and nothing felt better. In a life where living was subjective, nothing made me feel more alive.
Step after step, I carried on tirelessly, avoiding boulders and trees with an effortless grace, waiting for the lush
greenery to part and give way to the next town I would call my home, build my careful life of lies. A few more
strides and there it was; the break in the trees, the dirt turning to pavement, and I had to bring myself to pause.
This was it. This was home. At least, for now.
WelcomebackEdwardCullenDon’tfuckitupthistime
Chapter One: Solitary Confinement Without Walls
Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone.
-Octavio Paz
EDWARD
In the olden days, everything was done face to face, man to man, with your fedoras dipped low and wads of cash
leaving the pocket of one pair of straight leg wide trousers before being dropped into another. It was hushed
corners and dim lighting with shady men holding the keys to the castle. Dangerous and, generally, a crapshoot, I
would’vebeenfearfulifI’dbeenmadeupofanythingotherthanwhatIwasThesedaysinthese times,
indistinctness and anonymity were quite easy to grab hold of. After leaving Russia, running myself across Europe,
I’dprocuredallofthenecessarydocumentsanditemstobeginanewlifepassportfromthestashIhoardedina
lockbox in Brussels, one bank transaction from the Cayman Islands, a plane ticket paid for in cash, and I was set. It
was certainly a far cry from fedoras and the empty threat of Tommy guns.
TheexpanseoflandwasdifferentfromhowI’dremembereditbuttimechangeseverything. Or, so they say. Time
doesn’tchangemeWhiletherockybackdropIhadoncestalkedmypreyinhadbeenbulldozedandflattenedinto
smoothsteadylandIhadn’tchangedonebitIstillstoodthesameheighthadthesamemilkywhitecomplexion,
the same youthful appearance. Time wore on, but it never wore me down, never wore me away. Eternal youth at
the price of blood. Deep, dark, dizzy sins kept me the same, while the land thrived and formed into something
new. Time had been good to this patch of land. Time was never as good to me.
Set back, just outside of town, the landscape I had once called home had acquired a new tenant. It was a monster
of glass and wood, a sore thumb against the natural beauty of the trees that encircled it. However, changeisn’t
somethingthatagreeswithmesoIsnatchedupthesorryexcuseforarchitectureassoonasI’dfounditseatedon
myoldhomepluckingdownafatstackofcashontheRealtor’sdeskShetriedtotellmethatitwasawfullybigfor
just onepersondidn’tIwantsomethingclosertotownbutthelookinmyeyesrepliedthatIcouldn’tbe
convinced otherwise. It was ugly, at least by my more conventional standards, but it was mine, or so the keys in my
palm indicated.
My first day as a resident of Forks, Washington was spent just as all first days of mine had been. I walked into town
under the cover of a grey, daunting sky, and let the cash burn a hole in my pocket. Starting at one end of the drag
of shops, I worked my way through all the necessary theatrics of being new in town.
First, I stopped in at the auto repair shop on the outskirts to find a clunker of a car to use just for cover.
Somewhereinthe1980’sI’dlearnedthatwalkingeverywhereallthetimemadeonestandoutandnotina good
way. Combing through the lot, I knew exactly what I was looking for. I wandered to the very back, around a corner,
and there it was. Grey and heavy with an interior that smelled like old shoes. It was perfect, considering it would
barely be used and cost less than a high class hooker. The man grumbled something to me about getting the brake
linesreplacedbutIcouldn’tcarelessIaddedthekeybelongingtomybrandnewyetstillancientmuchlikeme
Volkswagen to the ring that held the key to my house and ventured on forth to Forks Outfitters, the one stop shop
for everything one needs to appear human.
Knowing that I was covered in dirt and muck from my cross country run, I immediately scooped up some clothing.
Nothing more than sweatpants and a few t-shirts, but at least they were clean, a factor that was well liked among
humanshalfashoppingcartofgroceriesthatI’dneverwrapmymoutharoundfollowedshortlyafterProducts
of hygiene cascaded in the cart and I smirked, knowing that those would actually get some use. A few books from
the discount rack were added in later, an afterthought as I made my way to stand in line. I set my mouth in a tight
line, a grimacing smile, as I went through the formalities of small talk while paying for my things. A discussion of
how their pies were on sale and I should think about stopping back to get one before all of the peach ones were
gone. Peach? For certain, that cashier would be more delectable than any peach God or man could produce. Oh,
humans, how I loved to love you and loved to hate you all at once. I loaded all of my purchases into the trunk of
my beater of a car, thinking about how badly I needed to hunt, all the while under stares that people in small
towns generally gave to the unrecognizable, and headed back to the glass and wood that would try to confine me.
“Homesweethome”Imutteredtonoonemyvoicedullandflatswingingopenthefrontdoorofthehousefor
the very first time.
I dropped my packages in the foyer, not needing a single item as more than a prop, and tossed my keys carelessly
besidethemonthefloorThefruitwouldrotandthecanswouldgounopenedbutIdidn’tcareLongstretching
strides carried me through the house, exploring each nook and cranny as thoroughly as I could, as I cared to. I
flickedonandoffswitchesseeingwhichcontrolledwhatopenedclosetsthatI’dneverfillstaredthrough
windowsattheviewI’dseenbeforeftermeremomentsIwasdonedisinterestedhousewasahousebutit
was never a home. Home is where your heart is, or so they say, and mine had stopped beating nearly a century
ago.
I was used to drowning in the sorrow of what I was, but sometimes, like now, it just became too much to bear.
Everyone has a limit and thinking about homes and hearts and happy was mine. My legs itched to run, over the dirt
andthroughthetreesawayfromthememoriessofastthattheycouldnotfollowThedoorcouldn’topenfast
enough and I nearly took it off its hinges in my haste, flying down the front steps, along the path, and into the
darkness the woods provided. Rain pelted my face and acted as the tears that could never come, trailing down the
flat planes of my cheeks, dripping down into the earth. I ran and ran, as fast as my legs could carry me, my fists
knocking obstacle after obstacle out of my way, leaving uprooted trees and crushed boulders in my wake. After a
while I forgot why I was running, the idea of home slipping away and being replaced again with wood and glass and
empty, and simply ran just to run, feeling alive again. Stopping at the bank of a river, my chest heaved from habit,
not from lack of air, and I sat down right where I stood, letting my limbs sprawl out against the dirt.
In the distance I heard the rustle of leaves, silently perking up my body on instinct. I crawled in the direction of the
disturbance and took in a whiff. Oh, that smell was quite familiar. Every ounce of practiced self control, every
masterfulhuntingtechniqueI’dacquiredtoldmenottolungebut,
God
, the taste of the reindeer of northern
Russia did not by any means compare to that of mountain lion. My mouth watered, venom flowing freely over my
lips and tongue, and I crouched closer, letting the beautiful delicacy come into sight. I counted in my head as the
beast rolled playfully in the grass, blissfully oblivious to what its future held, and smirked just before lunging, easily
and swiftly taking down my dinner. I made quick work, sucking down the blood of my 120 pound delight, and
smiled while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My tongue worked over my fingers, leaving no drop
behind, and I patted my stomach in satisfaction, pleased with the unexpected surprise of a meal.
The high only lasted so long and I was soon hit with the guilt of my actions. I ambled back toward the house, my
head hung low, as I tried to rationalize it. A mountain lion was surely better than a human, in the scheme of things.
Certainly, if there were a God of sorts looking down, cataloging each and every one of my sinsahumanwould’ve
earned me a lot more points in the column that held my tallies for a trip to Hell. But, just how many more? What
made a human that much more important than a lion, a tiger, a bear, or me? The house came into sight and I
frowned, feelingthetugofhomeoncemoreThat’swhatitwasThesameconclusionI’ddrawneverytimeand
still tried to find cause to toss aside as a fallacy. Though, the tugging in my chest, in the spot that once held my
beating human heart, told me it was true. The emptiness of my chest cavity, painting me as vampire, but the
longing that burned in that same spot, a ghost of humanity, spoke volumes. Humans had heart in a whole different
way than any other being and that was precisely why Carlisle insisted that we adopt our vegetarian lifestyle.
The tug came again. The mere thought of his name had the ability to bring me to my knees. I would not have it,
could not deal with it now.
Busying myself with routine, I unpacked the bag of soaps and shampoos and such from the general store and
followed the staircase to the top floor, padding my dirty feet along the slick wood on my way to the master
bedroom. Lather, rinse, repeat, and I found myself standing in front of the foggy mirror, staring into the golden
eyes of a manIdidn’trecognizeIturnedmybackonmyselfunabletobearanotherglanceanddressedina
hurry, eager to get into town.
Immersion therapy was always a tactic I turned to when reintegrating myself with the human populous. A Saturday
night in a small town was the absolute perfect night for such a thing and I drove my car down the main street until
I found the overflowing parking lot of the tavern, the buzz of inane blathering echoing in my head as I neared. It
wasagoodthingIwasn’thungrybecause I sensed that killing a few of the patrons inside would be doing the
world a favor. The door swung open, a brawl spilling onto the street, and I caught a glimpse of the inside as I
turned into the lot. As expected, it was full of loud, raucous ladies with their tops cut low and their standards even
lowerfawningovermenthatcouldn’tshowthemagoodtimeorthebasicprinciplesofadditionandsubtraction
Commonpeoplewerecommonbutthatdidn’tmeanIneededtocommonlyacceptthemPalmingmyforehead in
distaste, I cut the engine and stalked toward the door.
Despite the loud thoughts of everyone around me vibrating through my head, the place seemed nice enough. The
wood paneling and smoke clouding in the air made it feel like an old-timey saloon, the kind that Jasper used to tell
me about, and it wrapped the memory of him around me like a warm blanket. Before I could wallow too much, I
remembered my surroundings, the careful façade, and shouldered my burden for another time, ordering up a
pitcher of beer that I would gag down in a corner.
I stayed for a few hours, guzzling down pitcher after pitcher, as the locals took me in, weighed my presence in their
drunken minds. I was used to the once-overs and the casual stares and I welcomed them, glad to be back among
the living. Not once did I feel the tug to attack, not even to stalk, and as I pushed open the door of the tavern,
stumbling for effect, barely noting the cool, crisp air, that fact made me smirk. I had survived my first day as a
resident in this sleepy little nothing town and that was a little glimmer of hope in the dark, dank seriousness of my
reality.
LettingmyselfbackintothehouseIbowedmyheadstrippingmyfaceofthemaskofnormalcyI’dworninpublic
OneI’dmanagedoneOnesmall day in the world of infinity that I floated endlessly though.
One. Solo. Singular. Solitary. Alone.
That was the story of my life.
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