Author: Somah PM
"It's all real. They did this, but I'm still here, always, Bella. Find me." Those cryptic words, whispered in a last breath, continue to haunt Bella Swan five years after the supposed death of her love, Edward Masen. AH-AU.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Bella & Edward - Chapters: 20 - Words: 101,210 - Reviews: 1,542 - Favs: 1,852 - Follows: 1,318 - Updated: 11-03-10 - Published: 04-01-09 - Status: Complete - id: 4962588
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Bella, 2009. Present day.
Blood dripped down my face, trailing close to my wide eyes, and grazing my lips. I was pretty sure it wasn't mine. But it didn't really matter and I didn't really notice.
A body lay motionless not far from me, very possibly dead. I had known this body. But I ignored it.
Neither of these normally disturbing events bothered me at the moment.
No, I was momentarily more concerned about what stood directly in front of me.
I was staring at a ghost.
That was the only way to explain the figure before me, standing so still, wet hair plastered to its face.
My mind was blank, my mouth dry.
Blood continued to drip.
I had not been prepared to see a ghost today.
I had never imagined the eyes of a ghost to hold such sadness, such feeling. Such pain.
The ghost took a step towards me, the paleness of its skin suddenly my focus as it raised a shaking hand towards me. Casper had nothing on this one.
I stepped back into door frame of the open apartment, cringing away from its skin, its hair. Its eyes. Its everything.
It froze, its eyes taking me in, the pain deepening. The hand retreated back to its place beside its body.
"Bella," it whispered. Sighed? I had to strain to hear it. But one thing was unmistakable.
I shivered, my long hair dripping wet down the back of my soaked t-shirt, the drops of blood I could not see mixing in with rain water, ultimately splashing onto the beige carpet. I wanted to wonder about blood and carpet stains and if they can be removed, but instead my every fiber was attuned to one thing:
That voice. That unmistakable voice.
The last time I had heard it, he had been dying in my arms, on a road outside of Forks, his mangled car in the middle of the road, forgotten.
My hair had been covered in blood then, too.
"No," I whispered, my voice lost to the thunder outside, its force shaking the glass windows violently.
"Yes," it replied. It could hear through thunder? "It's all real. I'm here, Bella."
It took another step towards me, carefully, the ghost gauging my reaction.
It was all real. I'll be here. I am here.
"This is a joke. A sick joke." My back was suddenly against the white wall of the dimly lit hallway outside the open door. I couldn't recall moving.
Those words had haunted me for years, they were words that I had repeated to no one.
"No," it whispered, a flash of lightening brightening the dark apartment, silhouetting the outline of the ghost. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. But it's all real, Bella. I'm here."
Its mouth moved and I heard the words, but my mind refused to accept any of it.
Ghosts were not real.
I was dreaming, I had to be.
Because the alternative was completely and utterly inconceivable.
I would be sent back to the psychiatric hospital immediately.
But when I pinched myself, I didn't wake up.
And so that left me with only one explanation.
Edward Anthony Mason had not died five years ago.
Blood was in my eyes, a body lay nearby. But I did not notice.
Edward was alive.