Chapter Text
When Claire first spoke with her husband, mentioning the witch that could heal their daughter, he had dismissed it without a second thought.
"Nonsense," he had said. His judgmental gaze told her that he thought her a foolish woman; a child who blindly believed everything she was told.
She had pleaded with her husband, but he would not budge. She thought him apathetic and weak. In the heat of the moment, she had shared those ugly words to him—accusing him of being a coward and giving up on their little girl. That had sent Gordon into such a rage that she had not ever witnessed in her fifty years on this Earth. He told her in no uncertain terms that she was to give up on her venture.
But her words must have gnawed at his will, for a few days later he asked to hear more of it. A sense of resignation had fallen over him—and over her, too. They both knew that such avenues were unlikely to yield any results. To even entertain the idea was to subject themselves to the torment of false hope.
Claire's worst fear was that she would inadvertently doom her daughter. If the man that was spoken about in hushed, reverent tones truly were a witch, then they should stay far away from him. Witchcraft was heathenish and ungodly, and the work of the Satan.
The pragmatic side of her was also sceptical. She wondered if it was a waste of time and money; time more so than money. They had plenty of coins to throw around, but time was a limited resource. Despite her friend, Ida, swearing by this man's miracles, he demanded very little pay for his work. It was very strange and made Claire's distrust of him flare up even more.
So she had done her due diligence. When she dug around, rumours surfaced that Edward Masen was a man of unconventional methodology, but that his results spoke for themselves.
Some even said he was a clairvoyant, for he knew things about them that were impossible to know. He knew secrets that they had never spoken aloud to a single, living soul. The baffling thing, however, was that none of the medical practitioners she spoke to had ever heard of him. She had been in contact with many doctors in the past year, wishing to consult with them regarding Vanessa's health. They were trustworthy men and knowledgeable in their field, she knew. Yet none had heard of Edward Masen.
How could a doctor perform miracles and remain unknown?
Her interest had been piqued, and she did not heed her husband's orders to let it lie. By the time Gordon had relented to her demands, she had been prepared to answer his barrage of questions. He should've been grateful for her persistence. It would spare them time that they could not afford to waste.
Claire had immediately asked Ida for Mr Masen's address and had been given it. She had written to him, and after a short exchange of letters they had arranged a meeting for the following week.
This was their last resort. If it didn't work, she didn't imagine that there was anything left to do but pray that God would be merciful.
The husband and wife had previously admitted Vanessa to a mental asylum to heal her, but it had not panned out. Their daughter came out of it far worse for wear than she had entered.
They were desperate, not knowing how to help Vanessa. She still had bouts of activity, but she was largely catatonic, never leaving her bed. Claire feared that her daughter might be a hopeless case and that she had very little time left on this Earth. It was a pain that gripped her tightly at all hours of the day. Vanessa was her only child. She did not know what she would do if she lost her.
Thus, they journeyed eastward.
Claire and Gordon travelled by stagecoach, with Vanessa nestled at her father's side. Claire kept sending anxious glances towards her daughter, concerned that she was in discomfort. Travel by locomotive would have been more comfortable, but that had its own complications that they wished to avoid.
Both she and her husband found it unusual that Mr Masen refused to accommodate their needs, even when offered more money to do so. It would have been no issue for them to arrange transportation for him and his equipment. Yet, he was adamant that the appointment was to be in his office or not at all. Not to mention, in the evening.
It would be very late by the time they returned home. Perhaps it would be better to find lodging for the night, instead.
Vanessa seemed so pale and fragile. Claire worried that the trip would only deteriorate her daughter's health further—but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The carriage took them through a settlement, not too far away outside London. Claire looked out of the window, spotting the familiar cross on top of the chapel, far above her. The silhouette stood out against the yellow sunset.
The voice of her preacher from a sermon past entered her mind.
And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.
Claire found comfort in the sight of the cross, feeling God's presence with her. Everything would work out in the end.
By the time they reached their destination, the sun had set, and they were plunged into darkness. Only the waxing moon remained in the heavens. It was too cloudy to see any stars. It was not entirely dark, though. There were a few lamps lighting up the lone building. Claire squinted out the window, spotting a figure shrouded in shadow exiting the house.
The coach came to a slow stop, but she could hear the sounds of the horses being uneasy and unwilling to stand utterly still. The coachman hopped off and opened the door for them, first helping Claire out and then offering to help lower Vanessa to the ground.
Mrs Ives, however, was too distracted by the unfamiliar figure to pay attention to them.
It struck her how ethereal the man looked as he came into the light of the streetlamps. The pale skin was like a beacon of light in their dark surroundings. He appeared almost dead, she thought. It should have unnerved her, but it did not.
Perhaps he was an angel sent to help them. As he got closer, and she got a better look at him, she was shocked by his youthfulness. The tug of a smile that appeared on his face only served to highlight it. Ida had not mentioned that. It made her weak in the knees. As much as Claire would have loved to blame it on sitting still for so long, the true reason was as clear as day to her. The butterflies in her stomach made it undeniable.
The cherry on top was his amber eyes. They were captivating and stole her breath away. She had never seen anything like it.
She was dragged out of her stupor by the loud neighing of the horses. She startled and turned around to hold onto Vanessa as the carriage jolted forwards. Gordon swore, gripping the door frame to steady himself as his body rocked to the side. The coachman was quick to calm the animals, holding them still.
Gordon climbed out and groaned, clutching his injured arm.
It was lucky that her husband had not caught her staring at the boy, she thought. It was best that her oblivious husband remained in the dark about her unwomanly appetites.
"Are you hurt?" Claire asked, worried. She watched as he tentatively moved his limbs about, shaking his head.
The coachman apologized profusely for the inconvenience they had been put through, unsure of what had startled the horses. They graciously accepted his apologies, already wanting to put the incident behind them. They were eager to discover Mr Masen's secrets.
It was then that Claire discovered the doctor had retreated back into the shadows. She had been too busy helping her daughter and husband to notice, but now she was free to note his peculiar behaviour.
As the coachman left, having informed them that he would return shortly after changing horses, the young man stepped back into the light once more. He promptly invited them inside with a polite, toothless smile.
His office was not at all what she had expected. She had thought this off-the-books place would be small and dingy, but it was... decent. The size was not impressive, it was true, but it was very clean and modern. In the cabinets and on the desks, she spotted various apparatuses that she associated with the academics.
She wondered how he could afford it all, since he took so little pay for his work. It was not like the Iveses were an exceptional case, and the doctor chose to pity them. Quite the opposite; they had no qualms about spending more money than most others could afford. She could only conclude that Masen did not demand much compensation from any of his patients.
She briefly toyed with the idea that he might come from a wealthy family himself, but why would he not have his own lawful practice, then? Given his age, perhaps he was a medical student who moonlighted as a real doctor. Although, she was not entirely satisfied with that explanation.
A niggling feeling stayed with her, refusing to leave.
Edward Masen watched on in silence as the couple brought the patient inside, carefully placing her down on the bed that he had prepared just for her. He would have offered to help them, as it would be effortless for him to do so, but he did not want to draw more attention to himself than necessary.
It was better to err on the side of caution. From the woman's mind, he could see that she had already sensed his abnormal nature. If the rumours she had heard of him were anything to go by, then it would soon be time for Edward to pack up and leave this place behind. He couldn't afford to be anything more than an urban myth.
The father placed a kiss on his daughter's forehead. Her eyes were closed, and her steady breaths indicated that she was sleeping, thoroughly exhausted by the journey.
Edward rose from his chair slowly—by his standards—greeting his clients with a jovial façade. He shook the man's hand, hoping Mr Ives did not notice his coldness through the leather gloves that he always wore when expecting skin contact with humans. He had spent a long time practising the handshake. It was important that he impressed a sense of authority and expertise, while ensuring that he did not accidentally crush someone's bones. Humans were very brittle, after all.
He bowed to the woman, giving her gloved hand a gallant kiss. He could hear her poor heart skip a beat when it happened. She thought he was an angel, which was quite ironic. It was a natural reaction, though, for most women and even some men. He did not think less of her because of it—although her eyes had roamed his body most indecently when she first spotted him.
Yet, it annoyed him more that their thoughts were riddled with scepticism over his expertise. They thought he was too young to practise medicine, and it did not help his case that he had no licence for it.
"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Ives. I hope the journey was uneventful and not too strenuous," he murmured gently, with an almost unnoticeable rasp in his voice. He knew from experience that speaking softly put his clients more at ease, and it made the whole process smoother. The fabricated imperfection soothed their nerves in ways they couldn't explain.
He sat back down, motioning for the couple to sit down on the sofa. "I apologize for being unable to pay you a visit myself, but the circumstances would not allow me to leave for such a duration. I have obligations here that cannot be left unattended."
The couple shared a look, but nodded, placated by his kind words—as he knew they would.
His American accent had not gone unnoticed. Though they elected not to comment on it, their thoughts betrayed them. That was another mark against him, in their book. He was a foreigner from their previous colony.
Edward had been born and raised in Chicago; the Windy City. He had rarely stepped foot outside the city—until his end at the age of seventeen. Then it changed. In his death, wandering away from home was all he ever did.
When he first came to England, he had considered adjusting his accent to mimic the locals, but he found that being from the States was often a very convenient excuse for a variety of circumstances. Many were not familiar with the system they had across the pond, and they were more willing to turn a blind eye to his peculiarities. It did mean they looked at him with suspicion, as they did all foreigners, but they asked less impertinent questions.
The story he gave to all his patients was that he had learnt medicine from his father, whose last wish before he passed had been for his son to continue his legacy. The fabrication did have an ounce of truth in it. Carlisle had wanted him to be a better man; to follow in his footsteps.
It had been over a decade since Edward last saw his creator.
He missed the man and his sweet, caring wife, but he was too ashamed to return to them. After spending years hunting down criminals, he had tired of the terrible nature of his work. He was haunted by the ghosts of his victims. Their terrified expressions and pleading thoughts stuck with him, in his infallible mind.
His brutal vigilantism had affected his psyche in ways he found unhealthy. Fortunately, he was not so far gone that he could not recognize the symptoms within himself and—with a Herculean strength he didn't know he possessed—he had ripped himself away from that lifestyle.
A fresh beginning in a new country was what he needed. That is how he ended up in England.
He had still wanted to help those who could not help themselves, as any good Christian longed for, so he offered his extraordinary services to those in need.
Edward desperately wanted to have salvation, but he knew deep down that nothing could wash away the blood on his hands. Still, it was better to attempt washing it away than to do nothing at all. Even a soulless creature could be a good Samaritan. He would spend eternity attempting to repent for his sins, if that is what it took. He had spent the past few years scrounging for knowledge and poring over any texts he could find on the subject, which his mind soaked in like a sponge. If that sometimes involved breaking and entering, well... he never claimed to be a beacon of virtue.
In the early days, Edward had resented Carlisle for what had been done to him. He had viewed—and still viewed—himself as a monster. A demon damned to wander the Earth for eternity, leeching the life from living creatures. Carlisle thought that he had done Edward a favour by saving his life, but he had doomed him to eternal suffering. As the years passed, Edward had come to see the goodness in his creator's heart and could not find it in himself to resent the good doctor.
They had often discussed philosophical matters, and had settled on agreeing to disagree. In his heart, he hoped that Carlisle was right, even if he wasn't convinced of it. Dr Cullen said that God did not judge men on what they were—and the cards that had been dealt to them by forces outside their control—but rather on what they strived to be.
Edward strived to be good.
Though, would God judge them as men or as monsters?
He could not say with full honesty that he was never tempted to slaughter wrongdoers that crossed his path, but he insisted that his will was stronger than the beast's. He refused to succumb to such weakness, and he was proud of his achievements thus far, staying away from human blood.
"Thank you for having us... Mr Masen," the woman said, smiling carefully, pulling him out of his brief musings. She sounded uncertain, not sure whether to call him by another honorific.
She had been the one to explain Vanessa Ives' situation to him in a letter and pleaded with him for help. Edward learnt that Ida had been the one to refer Mrs Ives to him. To his own surprise, he found himself mildly annoyed at Ida.
He was aware of Ida's lack of resources and her inability to acquire the treatment she needed through regular means... but this couple clearly had no such issues. He looked at their clothes and the way they held themselves. It was clear that they were from the upper class. Money was no problem for them.
Still, he could not find it within himself to refuse them, not when Mrs Ives pleaded with him so.
It reminded him painfully of his own beautiful mother, who had begged Dr Cullen to spare his life from the fatal illness that had already taken Edward's father away from them and would take both of them, too.
The description of the patient had intrigued him, also. The girl had already been admitted to a mental asylum that had been unable to help her. Yet, according to the doctors that the parents had already consulted, there was nothing physically wrong with Miss Ives. If there was anything wrong, it was her own mind doing it to her. In a manner, her condition was self-inflicted.
"Of course, it is my pleasure," said Edward. "I will do everything in my power to help your daughter return to her former, healthy self."
He bowed his head slightly. It was both as a show of respect and a chance to cast his eyes in shadow. The darker they were, the less likely they were to make a lasting impression.
"What can you tell me about her medical history?"
It was important for him to assess everything that could have caused her current state and all the symptoms she had suffered.
He glanced over to the still figure on the bed. She looked very pale and gaunt.
Edward's gift of telepathy was a passive one, so he had no choice but to listen to everyone's thoughts, always. In the years he had lived with it, he had gained some control, and in moments of mindfulness he could intentionally block someone out, but that took great effort.
The mind of Vanessa Ives was a muddled mess, even taking her state of unconsciousness into consideration. He could not make out any clear thoughts from her.
Despite knowing of her catatonia, he would not have expected that. She was a very peculiar case... He had never encountered anything like it in his short, immortal unlife.
Mr and Mrs Ives took turns retelling the events that had driven them to his office. One moment Vanessa was fine, having an argument with her mother, and the next moment she was passed out on the ground.
Her health rapidly declined after that. She had fits and seizures, and had to be bound to her bed in order to not injure herself. Her previous doctors briefly believed she had epilepsy, but were forced to discard that theory.
It was at that moment that Edward caught a glimpse in Mrs Ives' mind of a horrific seizure, where her daughter was foaming at the mouth and unable to control her own body. He could sense that it was a painful memory; one that she tried not to think about too often, but which haunted her at night.
It became apparent that they really had tried everything. He felt sorry for them, and sorry that it was necessary to make them relive it. No one should have to see their child suffer in such ways.
Many hypotheses swirled in his mind as he pored over all the medical knowledge he possessed. With his inhuman speed, it did not take him long to come up with a diagnosis. He felt fairly certain about it, too.
It had to be a case of akinetic mutism.
She could neither move nor speak, it seemed like. There were not a lot of options that fit the bill.
Still, he felt that the Iveses did not tell him the whole truth of which occurrences led to Vanessa's... situation. He noticed their wariness and hesitation, and the unusually deep intakes of breath. There was a nervousness about them that was not due to the sensitive topic.
Their dishonesty did not matter, however. His unique skill set allowed him to pick up on details others could not. That is how he performed his so-called miracles. In under a minute, he could achieve a more accurate diagnosis than other doctors could during an entire appointment.
Having patients that were unable to articulate their issues was not a problem for him. Every time he gained new knowledge, he added it into the ever-increasing repository of his mind. Edward would not claim to be infallible, but he did not make the same oversights that mortals did.
His telepathic abilities, combined with his enhanced senses, allowed him to see the full truth.
Miss Ives had had a sexual escapade with the fiancé of her best friend, Miss Mina Murray, and the two girls had a falling out. The whole scandal had taken a heavy toll on Vanessa's health, and she deteriorated quickly, unable to bear the shame and anguish she had brought upon herself and her family. Not to mention, the loss of her dearest friend and confidante.
They had been closer than sisters.
According to the girl's parents, at least. Edward was not as convinced of the veracity of the tales they had been told.
Claire and Gordon Ives had not witnessed these events for themselves, simply pieced together the story from the three parties involved in the sordid affair. There could easily be more to it than had been said. It sounded quite outlandish that anyone would suffer such a serious condition from what essentially boiled down to an amical spat. Edward was not a stranger to mental anguish and the pressures a person could be put under from shame and guilt, but such a reaction seemed too extreme.
Something was not adding up. There had to be a more sinister explanation—one that the couple sitting before him had not been privy to. Whether out of a misguided sense of mercy or perhaps out of fear, he believed that Vanessa had wished to spare her parents the truth.
Another possibility was that she suffered from some other illness that simply coincided with the particular series of events.
There were a multitude of neurodegenerative diseases that could have drastic impacts on a person's well-being and worsen from stressors. But if that was the case here, then he did not have high hopes for the girl's chances of survival. He had a higher understanding of the physical world and medicine than most professionals, but he lacked experience and was limited by the lack of tools he had at his disposal.
Some things were beyond even his ability to save.
At least through traditional means...
But Edward would never be able to bring himself to steal away someone's chance at eternal paradise just for them to wander the Earth aimlessly for the rest of their days.
Ultimately, he considered it more probable that her parents had been told a sanitized version of the ugly truth: their daughter had not willingly been intimate with Captain Branson. If the incident was violent, she could have suffered blunt force trauma and asphyxiation. That, along with the extreme mental trauma, could have had a severely negative impact and caused her akinetic mutism, as well as her other medical maladies.
It was at this moment that his loathing for his own limitations grew once more. His telepathy was limited to only the present. He needed to steer the conversation towards the scandal, so he could get them to think of the aftermath in more detail.
"I'm afraid that I fail to see how this is relevant," Mrs Ives said when he asked her for the reason that Vanessa had argued with her mother. Edward could see the way the woman's neck tightened as she silently recalled the accusations thrown in her face by her daughter: hypocrisy and infidelity.
It was a delicate line for him to balance; he had to push them in a direction without revealing his own hand.
"Any clues on whatever triggered her sudden change could be invaluable in helping me diagnose her," he explained, steepling his hands.
Husband and wife shared a meaningful look, but they relented. Whichever baggage Mrs Ives had regarding her own lack of fidelity, she managed to put it aside for the moment.
She had tried to stop her daughter from visiting the Murrays, but Vanessa had been dogged in her pursuit of forgiveness. Claire was unsure of what exactly had transpired between her daughter and Sir Malcolm, but it had been the beginning of their unending nightmare.
"Why did you not want them to talk?"
Mrs Ives frowned at him, as if the answer was obvious. "She was going to make a scene. I didn't wish for her to shame us further."
Edward hummed thoughtfully. He needed to pivot.
"What can you tell me about the affair itself? What happened to the captain?"
He stretched his gift to dig deeply into their minds, looking for any signs that it had been a violent or forceful affair. As far as he could tell, there were no signs of ill intent, but human minds were so fickle. There could have been a hundred things that were wrong with Vanessa afterwards, but if they did not notice, then he could not see it either.
He knew from Carlisle's stories about his time in Italy that there was another gifted vampire with telepathic abilities.
Aro of the Volturi coven could see a person's every memory from mere touch. Edward would loathe to be subject to the experience himself, but the gift intrigued him. He wondered how his own gift would interact with it. If he had Aro's gift, he would not be dependent on the subject's consciousness, and he could have gathered the information directly from the source.
Seeing his current venture leading to a dead end, he switched tactics. He asked about her family's medical history. Did she have any aunts, uncles, grandparents or other relatives with any similar symptoms? The answer was disappointingly boring. They were fit as fiddles, for the most part; no genetic diseases that they were aware of.
"You won't find any answers in the past, Doctor." Mrs Ives turned her sad eyes to her lap, holding her fists close. Her husband put a supportive hand over hers, patting her gently. "I fear that my daughter is tormented by forces beyond our understanding; forces of evil."
It was a dramatic declaration, although Edward supposed it was not beyond the realm of possibility, considering his own cursed existence.
He heard a thought as it crossed her mind: Vanessa is being punished for both our sins.
As a man of faith, he knew that relations out of wedlock was a sin that required penance, but he could not imagine that the good Lord would make a young woman suffer in such ways. She hadn't been given the time or chance to gain forgiveness when she was struck down.
No, he still thought it likely that her condition was a response to trauma, and her tormentor was one Captain Charles Branson, not a higher being. Edward Masen might have limited life experience, but he had seen the worst of humanity in the years since his rebirth. He had spent years wandering amongst the worst of scum, and he knew what cowards did to those weaker than them.
Vanessa was a woman of God, too; her faith completely unwavering. One of her previous doctors believed her hysteria to be of a psychosexual nature. That could track with the supposition that she had a deep sexual repression rooted in religious devotion, especially if she was intentionally made to feel disgraced and defiled by her abuser.
However, that did not give him a clear picture of what was wrong with her, physically, and how to proceed. If Mrs Ives was correct—and what had occurred in the past could not help him glean the truth—then he had to look to the present.
He made a show of nodding thoughtfully, as they would expect him to. He peeked at the patient and exhaled loudly. All these mannerisms had become second nature to him over the years, but it was a studied artifice that he had mastered.
"Mr and Mrs Ives..." he cleared his throat. "Please, if you would be so kind as to leave the room, so that I can start my examination."
He stood up, gesturing to a door that led to a sitting room. Their faces made their hesitation obvious, no mind-reading needed. Mr Ives even squinted his eyes at him in the dim room, suspicious.
"I need absolutely no distractions when I do my work," he added firmly, walking towards the door and holding it open for them. "I hope these quarters are comfortable. I have readied a pot of tea and some biscuits. If I can do anything more to accommodate you, let me know."
He offered them this to placate them, and he had already foreseen that it would become necessary. Usually, his patients came to him alone and there was no need for this, but that was not a possibility here, naturally. He had expected that he would need to make them leave and had planned accordingly.
Saying that he could not work with distractions surrounding him was not a complete lie. It was true that he could not work optimally if they were studying him at the same time, just not for the reasons they would believe. He would not be able to explain the things he was capable of, even if he wanted to.
There were laws in place to protect the world from the chaos that would ensue if hostilities arose between humans and vampires. Edward did not want to test how strict the Volturi were at enforcing their laws.
When the couple left, he walked over to his desk and removed the leather gloves. There would be no risk of touching them any more, and he needed the full extent of his senses now.
With one hand, he lifted a wooden chair by its spindle and placed it by the bedside.
He took a good look at her, studying the fall and rise of her chest with every deep breath. Her skin was pale and dry, causing it to be cracked in various places. He inferred that her sedentary lifestyle and lack of nutrients were the causes of that.
"Miss Ives," he said, softly, sitting down beside her. He hoped to rouse her from her slumber without startling her. She did not appear to have heard him, so he repeated himself a little bit louder. Still no reaction.
He hesitated only for a fraction of a second before reaching out to nudge her shoulder. He withdrew his hand when he could hear her breath changing and her heart rate increasing.
Thump... thump... thump, thump, thump.
Her eyelids twitched and she inhaled sharply.
Edward tried to focus on her face instead of the sound of her heartbeat or the jugular vein that he could see so prominently on her exposed neck.
Her eyes slid open, and she stared ahead at his ceiling—but she didn't see. He waited a few seconds, giving her a chance to take in her surroundings. He understood that it could be disorienting if she could not recall travelling to his office. It was also possible that she did not even understand the information that her parents had given her.
"Miss Ives," he repeated lightly. "My name is Edward Masen." He watched her closely, looking for any reaction that she had understood what he said.
Her line of sight did not move from where it was fixed to the ceiling. There was absolutely no response to be had, neither corporeal nor cognitive. Her mind was as unclear as it had been when she was unconscious.
Nonetheless, even if she was unresponsive, Edward believed it was more comforting for himself and his patients whenever he spoke to them during his examinations. He could recall his own transformation at the hands of Carlisle, where he had truly believed himself to be in Hell after having failed his mother.
The pain had been so gruesome that he had been completely unaware of his surroundings for most of it. There had been a few moments of lucidity, but they were few and far between. His mind was now incapable of forgetting things, but if he had still been a human, he was sure his mind would have suppressed it all. Yet he had felt moments of comfort during the transformation. The flames that licked at him had not been as bad the entire time.
Retroactively, he learnt that Doctor Cullen had held his hand and spoken to him in soft tones. The reassurances that he was not truly dying, and that his torment would eventually end, must somehow have registered in his fevered brain.
He hoped he could bring Miss Ives some comfort, too.
"I will be your doctor today. Your parents brought you here, to me, in the hopes that I can aid you." He opened his physician bag that he kept close at hand, with all his most frequently used tools. They were mostly props, but still helpful to assist his pretence. "I will start by doing a standard medical examination, to assess your current state."
He took her silence as agreement. A dry sort of amusement pulled at the corners of his mouth.
First, he pulled out something that was reminiscent of a wooden trumpet. It would be considered far too inappropriate to lay his ear against her chest directly, so he needed to put some space between them. Of course, he could hear her heartbeat perfectly fine from where he was sitting, but he still benefited from getting closer.
"As I'm sure you know, this is a stethoscope. I will use it to listen to your heart," he explained, setting it against her chest. Since she had seen many doctors in the past, he assumed that she was familiar with medical examinations, but he knew that it put his patients at ease to have the process explained to them. And it also worked to distract them from any tension and anxiety they felt.
He held his breath as he leaned over to place his own ear against the end of it. He had good control over his thirst, but there was no reason to tempt fate. The rushing sound of her blood alone already produced venom, so there was no reason to add her tantalizing smell to the mix.
In order to avoid the worst of the suspicions, he always waited a few days after hunting before meeting his patients. That way, his eyes had time to darken a bit, making them appear brown in dark light. It also meant the thirst was building up again, until the next hunt. He always made sure to breathe through his mouth whenever he needed air for speaking. Such small measures here and there added up to keep both him and his patients safe.
Being a master of multitasking, he was easily able to count the heartbeats and the seconds passing simultaneously, calculating her heart rate. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Her respiration on the other hand was concerning. Each exhalation was shallow and unsatisfying, marked by the faint crackle of rales; the telltale sound of trapped air pushing against congested passages. It was easy to pick up on with his hearing, but would be difficult for anyone else. The reason for these rales could range from anything as benign as a cold to something more serious, such as pneumonia or bronchitis.
He pulled a rectangular case out of his bag, flipped the lid open, and picked up a glass tube. He watched the mercury inside the glass tube slowly expand at his touch, which was currently slightly above room temperature. It was almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, but his steady hands and sharp eyes made it possible to see. He watched the movement in fascination.
It was one of his newer tools that he had recently acquired; he had never used one before coming to England, where it was standard practice. It excited him, because it was a tool that genuinely helped him do something that he could not achieve on his own. Due to his low body temperature, it was nigh impossible for him to gauge the small differences in his patients. Not to mention, he always had to avoid touching them, lest they find out his secrets.
"This—" he said, holding the object in front of her face, "—is a thermometer. I will use it to check your body temperature. Please open your mouth."
Vanessa blinked, but did not make any sign that she had registered his instruction. He sighed, but carefully pried her mouth open and inserted the thermometer underneath her tongue.
He carefully let go of it, staying ready to grab it in case it fell out, or she somehow choked on it. They had to wait a few minutes before he got his results. That was the downside; the tool was not designed to be heat conductive and efficient. Many human doctors still preferred to do it the old-school way due to that.
He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. He would wait three hundred seconds before checking.
In the meantime, he walked over to his desk. He bent down and picked up a candlestick and a matchbook from the bottom drawer. Playing with fire... He carefully lit a matchstick. The hiss and following crackling sound of white phosphorus burning sent a metaphorical shiver through him. It was pure instinct. He was quick to transfer the flame over to the candle and blew out the match once it had done its job.
Edward returned to the bedside with the candle in hand. "If you would look straight ahead, Miss Ives," he said, attempting a light tone. For once, she did as she was told.
He slowly moved the flame in front of her, studying her as both pupils contracted at the sudden intrusion of light in her view. While it was not a conclusive result, it did indicate that her cranial nerves were functioning as expected.
He put the candle away and sat back down. He rapped his fingers on his knees, counting the ticks of the clock. The next step would have been to test her reflexes, but he didn't want to possibly startle her and make her drop the thermometer. He would skip that step for now.
Instead... he steeled himself for the following step—one that was quite unique to him. Some doctors might try to use all their senses to their advantage, but there were some areas where they were simply beat regardless.
Edward clutched his trousers, willing himself to only hear the ticking of the clock and not the pulsating blood inside of Vanessa. He closed his eyes and got to his feet. He listened to the couple quietly drinking their tea in the other room, making sure that they were staying put. He would struggle to explain himself adequately if they entered unexpectedly.
Tick... tick... tick...
He leaned over her once more, putting his nose close to her face. She stared straight ahead as if she didn't notice him.
"Don't be disconcerted, Miss Ives. This is standard procedure."
He got so close that he could feel her breath tickle his skin.
Edward flared his nostrils and inhaled deeply, filling his nose with her scent. It might have seemed strange and intrusive—and perhaps a touch perverted—but it was quite remarkable how much information one could pick up with acute olfactory senses. Small changes in body chemistry could have a noticeable effect on a person's scent.
Vanessa had an air of sickness hanging about her, with a slightly musty odour mixed in. Even so, she smelled very... tantalizing. Strangely, he did not feel a burning thirst in his throat, yet he was overcome with a desire to stick his fangs in her neck. It was a conundrum. He knew that ill humans were not as appealing as healthy ones. During his time of hunting criminals, he had often stumbled across the odd drunkard or inebriate, and they decidedly tasted worse.
Edward felt his knees lock up as temptation crashed over him in waves. This woman pulled him to her, demanding his attention.
Being in the medical profession as a vampire was like playing with fire, he knew... but none had ever challenged him like this. He knew it was an unwise choice to stay in the profession when he could be anywhere else in the world, doing anything else, but his sense of duty compelled him. And if he was honest with himself, his pride also demanded that he proved himself capable of the feat.
He pulled back, swallowing the venom that had started pooling in his mouth. The beast would not get the better of him this time, either.
He decided to not continue down this path, and instead chose to be satisfied with the information he had been able to gather. Mustiness...
Tick... tick... tick...
It was time to check the thermometer.
97 degrees. No fever, then. Slightly lower body temperature than the average, actually. That could be due to malnutrition and lower metabolism. Nothing too concerning.
He pressed his lips in a thin line and plucked the thermometer out. He wiped it down with a cloth and placed it back in its protective case.
There were multiple signs that something was wrong with Vanessa, but nothing that could tell him what truly ailed her.
He stared down at her and her unmoving, unblinking eyes.
She hadn't acknowledged anything he said. She hadn't reacted to anything he did.
A growing weariness settled on Edward's shoulders. A realization struck him; he relied far too much on his unique ability of telepathy. That truth hurt his ego in ways that were impossible to smooth over. His current patient would not and could not tell him what was wrong with her, whether consciously or subconsciously. It was frustrating.
"You are an enigma," he muttered.
Nothing. Absolutely no reaction at all to be had.
In a moment of impulsivity, he touched her wrist with his cold hand, and her body responded in kind.
His talent was difficult to explain to someone who had no comparable gift of their own, but the best way he could describe what happened at that moment was that a... ripple... went through her. He 'saw' the movement in her mind.
He made a mental note that Vanessa responded to touch and change in temperature.
Encouraged by this development, he pinched her, very lightly. She flinched, retracting her arm out of his grip. It had been like a part of her brain lit up.
Fascinating.
It must have been purely instinctual on her part, as she did not seem to register what either of them had just done. In order to make sure it hadn't been a fluke, he did it again, careful not to actually injure her with his superior strength. Once more, she came to life—going so far as to grunt and shift away.
"Miss Ives, I apologize if that hurt," he said. "I am trying to help you, and it would be much easier for me if you cooperated. Tell me what's wrong."
Vanessa blinked.
Back again to the silent treatment.
So, she wasn't interested in idle chit-chat and small talk. Fine. Perhaps he needed to dig deeper; get to the root of the problem; penetrate the fog around her mind. His telepathic abilities could not reveal the truth for him here, but he still had his superb insight and interpersonal skills.
"I... understand that this might be quite a... sensitive subject—" he started, folding his hands in his lap, "—but I need to know what happened between you and your friend, Miss Murray."
As he uttered the name, Vanessa's eyebrow twitched. It was a promising sign. Edward decided to forge ahead.
"I hear that you quarrelled with her. That you... seduced her fiancé... What truly happened that night you were with Captain Branson? Were you truly lovers, or is there more to the story? Did he force you?"
He paused, staring at her.
Her mind was swirling. Her eyes were vibrating.
He just needed to push her a bit more.
"Why would you ruin your friendship with Mina over a man you didn't care for? Or..."
Edward realized, suddenly, that he had leaned forward sometime during his interrogation. But instead of leaning back again, he stood up so he could stare down at her directly. A new idea had entered his mind.
He started pacing.
"Or did you care for him? Maybe they were right," he said, turning to look at the door that her parents had exited through. "I was mistaken... So... you went to Captain Branson, willingly. There is no evidence that he hurt you, after all."
He swerved back to look at her.
Her breath had become laboured, and her chest heaved with each exerting gasp. Her mind was opening up to him; activity was milling about as the brain was stimulated. The truth became clearer and clearer.
"You envied what your friend had, and you wanted it, too. You felt that Mina had everything and you were being denied your dues. You had seen your mother lead by example; she took what she wanted, too."
He scoffed. Claire and Gordon Ives were speaking in hushed tones in the neighbouring room. They had no idea what he was saying about them.
"In the end, you got your man; you had it all. But after the news broke of your scandal, your captain abandoned you. He chose to save his own skin. You felt betrayed. You felt anguish. The one you loved left you to face your demons on your own."
A rush of excitement filled him as he felt they were reaching the crescendo.
Except...
Something was off. There was a false note in the song; almost unnoticeable if you didn't have an ear for music. As it happened, Edward was a virtuoso on the piano.
His perceptive skills were beyond compare. That's what made him the best of the best. There were none with his abilities.
"No," he exclaimed, suddenly. "I'm coming at this from the wrong angle... I'm on the right track, but the details are wrong."
He spoke more for his own benefit than hers. The puzzle pieces were falling into place. He was nearing the top of the mountain; to the view that stretched for miles and miles, where he could see everything.
"You weren't in love with Charles... You were in love with Mina."
Edward inhaled deeply, having used all the air in his lungs for the whole, long tirade.
It was so obvious, in hindsight.
"It broke your heart. You didn't just lose a sister that day... You didn't care about your mother's infidelity, nor the morality of your own affair," he spit out. "Like a spiteful harpy, you just wanted to break them up the only way you knew how. You thought it must have been because you desired the captain, but... once Mina left, you were struck by a realization. You couldn't pull the wool over your own eyes any more."
Edward turned on his heel, walking in a circle around his chair before sitting back down. He wore a solemn expression, clasping his hands together, almost as if he were praying.
The last piece fell into place.
"You're a damned creature."
Miss Ives' increasing hyperventilation stopped abruptly.
Her eyes snapped to him.
The air sagged out of her, like a deflating balloon.
It was eerie and disturbing, and he felt rooted to the spot. A chill went up his spine.
Given his nature and his extraordinary ability, it was incredibly rare for Edward to feel anything less than invincible wherever he went. Most other vampires posed no threat to him; he could foresee any attack they attempted. He possessed great strength and even greater speed. He always had the advantage.
And despite all of that, a sinking feeling crept over him. There was something about the way her light, blue eyes stared directly into his non-existent soul that made him feel powerless. She had a tremendous presence without even trying.
It was deeply unsettling, but he couldn't look away.
It took him a moment, but the realization of why it felt so wrong crashed over him. Her mind had turned silent. There was only a low buzz remaining.
There was no indication that she had a single thought running through her head. Yet she stared at him.
As she inhaled again, a slow, deep sputtering sound escaped her. At first, he thought she might be having a seizure of sorts, until he realized that it was a laugh.
"You... dare... speak to me of damnation," she growled, her voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse. Every word sounded like a struggle to get out.
Her eyes narrowed at him, and he half-expected his knees to give out. Her mind—which had been a muddled mess before—was now a wall of concrete that he had no hope of getting through.
A new theory came to him in a flash.
It was not that her mind wasn't working and Edward's efforts were bringing her back to life. Rather, she had some sort of defence mechanism to prevent anyone from reading her. Awakening her turned her gift back on in full.
He had never met anyone who was impervious to his power, but what else could it be? The thought fascinated and repulsed him in equal measure.
Vanessa forged on, unaware of his internal turmoil.
"I know you, Edward Anthony Masen," she spit out, putting emphasis on his name.
Her irises expanded, and he couldn't help but stare right back into those pools of darkness. For lack of a better term, his blood ran cold. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
"You are a killer," she growled, once more. She sounded more animal than human. "You spent years hunting and terrorizing your prey."
A moan escaped her and she closed her eyes. It was almost as if she was enjoying the thought of the misfortune that befell those lowlifes at his hands. When she reopened her eyes, there was a manic gleam in them. He wasn't sure if he simply imagined the strange shine in them.
"You speak to me about damnation," she scoffed, shaking her head. She propped herself up on the bed, bending forward in a way that was reminiscent of a feline predator. "I know what you are, you scum; a servant of the lowliest creature on this foul planet. There is certainly no place for you beyond the pearly gates." Her voice was distorted, as if she wasn't the one speaking at all.
How could she possibly know what he was and what he had done?
How could she know about his lack of humanity?
How could she know which words would hurt the most?
Even if she had somehow guessed his nature... If she had recognized his pale skin and cold flesh... If she knew what to expect from his kind...
She had called him by his name. Edward Anthony Masen.
He hadn't used his middle name in years.
The main reason he avoided using it was because Edward Anthony was more memorable than just Edward. And the real reason was that he disliked painful reminders of the past. He had been named after his own, late father. Senior and Junior had never been exceptionally close, but it had broken Edward's heart when his father died, and he had been left to take care of his mother, all alone.
Vanessa's heavy wheezes filled the silence as she waited for him to respond. Alas, she had managed to render him mute. It was rare for a vampire to ever feel fear and trepidation, but that was what filled him. He was reluctant to approach her even if he knew that, rationally, she had no way of hurting him.
She looked as if she teetered on the edge, ready to pounce at any moment. Yet, she did not attempt to attack him. She waited patiently for him to make a move.
"... Who are you?" he asked, feeling very much like an idiot. He was painfully oblivious to the true meaning of her words. "What are you?"
Miss Ives could not be human... right?
He took a tentative step forward, closing in. He had to admit, he felt that he regained some control as he towered over her.
He tried to appear menacing, but she simply blinked—her long eyelashes fluttering mockingly. Then she threw her head back, laughing at him as if he had just told an amusing joke.
"You're not the only predator that lurks at night, Cullen," she warned.
Now, that was a name he hadn't been called in a long, long time.
During his time with Carlisle, he had used the old vampire's family name for his false identity, but it was hardly one he identified with.
As he laid a hand on her shoulder, preparing to restrain her, she closed her eyes and screamed. It was the sound of anguish.
Just as suddenly, a thought struck him with the force of a freight train. It was not his own thought. It left him reeling and disoriented. Vampires were able to process things hundreds of times faster than a human, but it took him many whole seconds to digest it.
The thought had emerged from her.
In the blink of an eye, Vanessa had recalled an entire conversation that she had had with... Well, who was that man? Edward did not recognize him, and despite the familiarity with which the two spoke, neither did Vanessa, apparently. In the memory, she seemed apprehensive of him, in fact.
It was captivating.
He didn't understand how any of it was possible. The memory had gone by too quickly, even for him. He only caught parts of it. So how in the world did she manage to push that memory onto him?
Before he had more time to ponder on that mystery, the door to the office slammed open. It was only then that Edward realized how this looked. Miss Ives was screaming bloody murder and he was grasping her, threateningly. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts and the mysterious woman he had on his hands to think about the outside world.
Mr and Mrs Ives rushed to their daughter's side, as if to shield her away from him. As if he were the threat.
Did they not realize that she had abilities beyond a mere mortal?
Everything about her was meant to invite you in. Like a moth to a flame.
"Doctor Masen," someone barked at him. He turned to look at Mr Ives' red face. "What is going on here?" The man grabbed him by the shoulder.
Edward's brain froze—startled by being accosted in such a way—but only for a second. He allowed himself to be pulled away from the girl. Or... whatever she was.
His ears hurt as she screamed her head off, but he was too dazed to do anything about it.
Mr and Mrs Ives shoved her back on the bed, on either side, doing their best to ensure she didn't hurt herself during the fit. Her fingers were curved like talons as she tried to claw at herself and her parents. Mrs Ives tried desperately to soothe her daughter, but all her sweet words fell on deaf ears. All she got for her trouble was an elbow to the chest.
Edward could only stand there, completely stock-still, as the scene unfolded before him.
Vanessa's eyes rolled around wildly in the sockets. She hissed and growled like a beast. Her father had to clasp his hand firmly over her mouth, so that she would not try to bite him.
The couple of minutes that they spent wrangling her down until she tired herself out felt like an eternity. They might have been the longest in his life, only second to the purgatory that had filled his dying lungs with breath anew.
At last, her body went limp.
Her parents let go of her, cautiously, as if she might spring back to life at any moment. Identical sighs of relief were heard. The couple stared at each other fearfully, communicating silently. Edward could see in their minds that this was not a new occurrence for Vanessa. She had managed to repel much potential help that exact way previously.
"What exactly happened here, Mr Masen?" Mrs Ives turned to Edward abruptly. She straightened her back, lifting her chin boldly to look him in the eye.
If only he knew how to answer that.
He swallowed hard. "What happened here, Mrs Ives..." he replied, parroting her own words back to her. It sounded halfway between a statement and a question. "—Is that your daughter should sooner see a priest than a doctor, I think." He paused, considering his words carefully. "That is both my professional and personal opinion."
Mrs Ives' demeanour turned cold as she processed his words. It was harsh to say, but he believed that they needed to hear it. It was not his wish to offend them.
"Are you saying that you think my daughter is beyond saving?" she asked, an odd tone in her voice. She attempted to sound apathetic, but sounded rather upset instead. It tugged at his heartstrings.
"I am sorry," he sighed, trying to infuse as much sincerity as possible. He didn't know what else to say. "I dearly wish to help your daughter, but this is beyond even my expertise..."
"They told me that you could perform miracles," she said, in an almost pleading manner. He could see that she had tried to not get her hopes up, but had done so nonetheless. "So perform a miracle."
Her husband walked around the bed to place a hand on his wife's shoulder, in a gesture of comfort.
Edward opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was at a loss for words. He desperately wished he could have an epiphany, but none came. He felt sluggish. Going through his encyclopaedic mind to find answers would be like swimming through tar: fruitless.
"Is there nothing you can do?" asked Mr Ives. "Nothing at all?"
"I could give her a bottle of laudanum to bring her a peaceful slumber, but that won't fix the underlying issue, as I'm sure you're aware."
Mr Ives nodded, grimly. The doctors had already tried giving her sedatives. They had tried most of the common procedures. The wife opened her mouth to speak again, but Mr Ives patted her on the shoulder, silencing her.
"Thank you, Mr Masen. We will—"
The man was interrupted by a groaning sound coming from the bed. They turned in unison to look at Vanessa as she opened her eyes once more.
Edward held his breath as she blinked, and her world came into focus. He noted that she held herself in a different manner than when she awoke the first time. Her mind was not as impenetrable as previously, either. He could still not hear her thoughts, but there was something different about her.
"W-where am I?" she stammered, voice hoarse and meek. Mrs Ives gasped and rushed to her daughter's side to grab her hand comfortingly. "Mother?" She looked confused and slightly frightened.
"Oh, Vanessa, darling. You're awake." Her mother grasped her face.
"What's happened?"
"You are in a doctor's office, dear. Near London. We are here to find a cure for you. Do you remember?" Mrs Ives' eyes were large and imploring, as if she could persuade her daughter to remember.
Vanessa shook her head, silently.
So, she recalled nothing from her moment of clairvoyance. Edward felt something tighten inside of him, like a coiled spring.
"Oh, well..." Mrs Ives looked at her husband, who only stared back at her blankly, resigned. Instead, her eyes flickered to Edward, before returning to her daughter. "Now that you're awake, perhaps Mr Masen can continue his examination of you and—"
Before she could continue, Vanessa interrupted her with a grunt. She had taken a single look at Edward and dismissed him already. He tried to not take it personally.
"I'm tired and weary," she sighed, closing her eyes. "Can't we go home?"
"But we came all this way... It would be a shame if we—"
"—I'm tired, Mother," she said, darker and more insistently this time. "I don't want to be here. Please." Her eyelids pressed down, hard, and she buried her nose in the pillow.
"Vanessa needs to rest," Edward nodded, agreeing with his patient. It would be best for her to leave. "This is not the progress you believe it to be," he insisted, plucking the thought straight out of Claire's mind before she had the chance to bring it up. "You've already told me that she has her lucid moments, but they're always followed by a regression. Letting her rest is the only viable option you have, even with its slim chances of improvement."
He saw, in their minds, memories of the times Vanessa was awake after she first fell unconscious. In her waking moments, she had spent her time screaming and struggling against her caretakers. Even worse, there were moments where she did neither; moments where Vanessa begged her parents to let her perish, instead.
Edward shuddered. He wasn't sure who he felt worse for. All he knew was that he wanted them gone so he had room enough to think in peace. He could hardly hear his own thoughts.
"Give her what she wants," he said.
His realization came too late; having her self-destructive despair on their minds meant that Mr and Mrs Ives' thoughts immediately went to the moment when she had asked for death. That's what she wanted. She had been quite outspoken about it.
Would it be a blessing or a curse to free Vanessa from her eternal battle against her demons? Edward did not know, but he could relate to the feeling of being puppeteered by an instinct a thousand times stronger than his own will. It was an uphill battle that required enormous tenacity.
"This false hope you hold onto will lead you nowhere. Believe me, I don't say this lightly. Take her back home and grasp this moment of clarity with both hands."
Gordon Ives grunted. He straightened his collar mindlessly, his eyes staring ahead of himself unseeingly.
With a couple of long strides, he hooked his arm beneath his daughter. Together, the husband and wife helped Vanessa get to her feet, so that they could guide her outside. Edward stood still as a statue as he watched it happen.
"... Mr Masen." They nodded their farewells.
Edward bowed his head, silently holding the door open for them. He was glad that he had not requested any monetary compensation, for it would have complicated the matter and simply prolonged the appointment. And he would have felt guilty, forcing them to leave empty-handed.
He stared out of the window, eyes trailing after the carriage as it disappeared through the night. The sound of hoofs steadily trotting on cobblestone filled the cold air. Then he was alone, once more.
Edward turned around, entering the small side room where his guests had been waiting. He placed the porcelain cups on the tray, along with the tea pot, and picked it up. He noted that his steady hands had allowed the thin film that coated the surface of the liquid to remain undisturbed. Judging by the weight of the tray, he could guess that the couple had barely touched it.
Such a shame that it had to go to waste, he thought as he poured the rest down the sink.
The mundane task of cleaning up after the appointment allowed him to find the proverbial quiet after the storm. Now that they had left, he became more clear-headed. It was with regret that he looked back on their conversation. He had been too callous and curt with the Iveses. They had not deserved that.
It also shamed him how quickly he had buckled under real pressure. He had never been challenged in such a way before. People said he performed miracles, but he simply utilized his vast knowledge and unique skills. It certainly did not merit growing an inflated ego. If he could be completely frank with himself, it freaked him out to lose control of the situation; to be at the mercy of nature; to be humbled.
In his defence, he had been deceived by them.
They had known that Miss Ives was deeply troubled, far beyond the norm, yet they had only presented her as a medical anomaly. He had expected to face a proper challenge that would force him to rack his brain—not something that would haunt him endlessly for all his remaining days.
Vanessa, in turn, was a mystery.
Was it even possible to rationalize the scene he had witnessed?
All the signs pointed to... something that he could not quite explain. Possession, something in him whispered. But that couldn't possibly have been it.
No.
There had to be a more rational explanation.
Then again, they lived in an irrational world.
No, no, no. No. He wouldn't allow such thoughts to distract him. When all else failed, he could rely on his training.
First—observation. What had he observed? He had seen a young woman in a catatonic state, and he had been unable to read her thoughts. That was a first for him. She had become lively and spoke to him about things she could not know. Then, she screamed at him. When she woke again, she had forgotten what had happened.
Second—question. What had caused her catatonia? Did her parents speak the truth about the matter? How had she known about his sinful past? Why couldn't he read her? Why could she read him?
Third—hypothesis. Something supernatural was afoot, most certainly. No one knew about what he had done to Charles Evenson, nor the hundreds of other John Does that had crossed his path. If Esme or Carlisle had somehow gotten wind of her abusive ex-husband's death, then he strongly doubted that they would ever tell another living soul. Edward had heard Carlisle's murderous thoughts on more than one occasion. He was simply too good to act on it. So Edward had taken justice into his own hands.
Perhaps Vanessa was a witch. Or perhaps she had a latent ability, just as Edward had. He knew that throughout human history, many so-called unfortunates had been caught in the crossfires of cleansing their world of demonic presence. Witches were thought to be servants of the Devil, but many of the accused were simply gifted individuals. Some of them were vampires even; not slaves to the evil forces that be.
The witch twins of Volterra were two such people. Carlisle had given Edward many lessons on the ongoings of the vampire world—some of his own volition and some unwittingly. It was difficult to hide things from mind readers, after all.
Perhaps Miss Ives was a clairvoyant, since she knew such things about him. Psychics were often misunderstood and thought to be highly eccentric.
And lastly—experimentation. The final step before he could reach a conclusion. But how could he test his hypothesis? Vanessa was out of his reach. Edward could hardly sprint after their carriage at inhuman speeds to tell them he had changed his mind and wished to keep her under observation.
He pondered the quandary. How could he find out if she was a gifted individual? What would he do even if he knew the answer to it? It was not like he was an expert in dealing with psychics or other telepaths, especially hostile ones. Carlisle truly was a saint for guiding Edward through discovering his capabilities.
Maybe he could go back to Carlisle, since the doctor had experience with that. It would make him feel stupid, but a woman's life was on the line. Edward couldn't let his own pride get in the way of saving someone. The only issue was that he hadn't the faintest idea of how to find the centuries old immortal. He and Esme must have moved away from Cleveland years ago.
As unaging vampires, they could not stay in one place for too long without drawing the attention of the humans. That risked their secrecy and would bring the wrath of the Volturi down on them.
Edward had to be careful, too, for that matter. He did not feel that he had overstayed his welcome in England, yet, but that could change quickly. He tried to keep a low profile, so that he wouldn't attract any attention. Especially now that he was closer to Italy—as opposed to when he was separated from them by thousands of miles of ocean—he was more cautious. He was always careful to cover his tracks.
He could not spend months roaming around the United States alone, looking for vampires. He could stumble upon all sorts of hostile nomads. There wasn't even any guarantee that the Cullens were in that country any more. They could be anywhere on the continent, or not even on the continent at all.
Edward doubted that Mr and Mrs Ives would stay put for such a long period, any way. They were humans and therefore bound to move on, trying to find a new solution... or give up entirely. Miss Vanessa did not seem stable. She could easily break down in the time he was gone... or worse; she could blab all his secrets to the world. She would likely be seen as a rambling lunatic, but there were others that could verify her experiences.
He could simply not leave the young woman alone. It did not seem like she was aware of what she had said to him, but one never knew. He could not take that risk. He could not rely on her faulty memories to hide his secrets on his behalf. And he would hate to have to kill her, when she intrigued him so. If she knew the truth and spoke to someone about him, then that could land him in hot water with the Volturi kings. Not many encountered them on their mission to uphold the law and lived to tell the tale.
Edward had never met them, personally, but their reputation preceded them. They had ruthless efficiency. Carlisle said so. Everyone said so.
He missed the man, sometimes. Their time together had been enlightening. Alas, even if he wanted to rejoin him, he didn't know where to look.
But... he suddenly remembered someone who might know the whereabouts of his creator.
There was a coven, in Alaska, that was friendly with Carlisle. Edward had been there once, shortly after Esme had turned. She had struggled a lot with the bloodlust, more so than Carlisle or Edward had, so they thought it a good idea to live somewhere isolated during the worst period. That's how they had stumbled across the coven of five that lived in Denali. It had been pure luck that crossed the path of the larger coven with their own—but it had also been a blessing.
There were three fair-haired sisters who had settled in the mountains of Denali, secluded from the outside world. They were able to do so because they did not prey on humans... any more. They were old—far older than Carlisle—and had a long and bloody history.
Edward knew that their methods of... hunting... had spread many legends throughout Eastern Europe, from whence they hailed.
Later, they were joined by a mated pair that were intrigued by the 'vegetarian' diet. Only killing animals, instead of humans, allowed for a peaceful coexistence away from the violence that had plagued the couple.
There was only one man in the whole coven, whom Edward was the closest to. The enigmatic man was very worldly and knew many of their kind.
Wait... that was it.
Eleazar!
Of course! How could he have been so stupid? How did he not think of that sooner?
The Denali was the one coven that Edward reliably knew how to find, and the man he needed was with them.
Eleazar had been a member of the Volturi, using his abilities to sniff out other gifted vampires, and he categorized them for Aro's purposes. He had also helped Edward explore the limits of his own talent, which had been invaluable in his discovery of himself and his abilities. Without Eleazar, he would not have understood himself as well as he currently did.
There was a certain kinship between them. It was not that he disliked the women, but the sisters could be... a bit much, at times.
The coven was led by Tanya; a beautiful blonde that had flirted relentlessly with him—and every other male specimen. It was exhausting. He suspected that Eleazar only escaped her flirtations because his mate, Carmen, would've ripped her head clean off her shoulders if she didn't give him a wide berth in that regard.
Edward was not eager to see her again, but if he could convince Eleazar to aid him in his mission to save Vanessa, then he would not allow himself to be deterred by one steadfast vixen.
The largest question remaining was the logistics of how to get Vanessa halfway across the world. With her fragile health, she was in no state to join him on such a journey. Even if she were, he had no way to keep her alive for so long. He did not require sustenance in the same way that she did, and he could not provide for her. She would not take well to the blood of mountain lions. He could not purchase provisions, for he did not take payment for his work. The few pennies he already had would be useless in another country, any way. Nor did he have the necessary documents to exchange currencies, and stealing from hard-working men was beneath him.
The only option left was to travel to Alaska by himself. Then the issue would be how to convince Eleazar—and possibly Carmen—to come with him to the UK to examine a stranger.
Eleazar's gift of identifying other gifts did not just apply to other vampires, but extended to humans, too. When he worked for the Volturi, he had been a scout of sorts, looking for talented individuals to join their ranks. If Vanessa had such a strong ability as a mortal, then who knew what that could manifest itself as in her immortal form. Edward could already imagine Eleazar drooling over her.
He had used to help identify potential threats and allies to the Volturi, and despite moving on from the Italian coven to live a new life, he still had a certain mindset regarding talented vampires. Edward remembered the barrage of questions and tests he had been subject to. At times, he felt very much like a laboratory rat in the experiments. He appreciated the effort, but the zealousness was a tad frightening. But it was in Eleazar's nature to scrutinize people and evaluate their usefulness. He couldn't help it.
If Edward presented the curious case of Vanessa Ives to him from that angle, he was positive he could pique an interest. Eleazar never gave up on a good lead.
He quickly tried to calculate the shortest route to Alaska. Edward had originally come from America by boat, but now time was of the essence. The trip across the Atlantic Ocean took about a week and a half, and then it would also take him a couple of days to run from New York to Alaska. That was without taking into consideration the time it would take to arrange tickets for himself and wait for the ship to sail.
He didn't look forward to being in forced proximity to so many humans again, either. He could do it, if he put his mind to it, but he would rather not. The last time had been torture. Calculating everything together, he estimated that the round trip would take almost a month. It was too long. There were too many unknown variables. For each passing day, the chance of never seeing Vanessa again increased.
However... if he ran through Russia and crossed into the US across the Bering Strait, that couldn't take him more than a few days. Maybe up to a week each way, if he was pessimistic. That was more doable. He had never done it before, but it had to be faster than going by boat. And it had to be better for his sanity, too. Fresh air and no human odours. Wild animals to hunt. It would be far better.
He swept over to his bedroom, where he had a standing globe in the corner. He had spent many a restless night staring at it, thinking about travelling the world, but never finding the inspiration to do so. All his nights were restless for him, but some were worse than others. He often longed to get out of his self-imposed cage.
He traced his finger across the surface, outlining a path.
A week of travel seemed about right, taking the different landscapes and obstacles into consideration.
He didn't have any obligations awaiting him, so he could hunt tonight and already get going in a few hours. He would just need to pack some change of clothes (he could hardly show up to Tanya's coven completely dishevelled) and be on his way.