A/N: I'm sorry I was so quick to finish my other stories, but I wanted to make room for this one! I had a weird dream. Edward was Jack, and Bella was Rose, but my dream had so many differences. (You'll see.) I had a 'Stephanie Meyer' so I would love to write it down. I hope you all enjoy the future writing of this story. I know I will. BUT if you don't like it tell me in the reviews, and I wont continue it. It's in the hands of you guys.
F O R K S
The ship of dreams.
When you can live forever,
what do you live for?
"Don't do it." I called out to her. Poor distressed rich woman. Her breathing was heavily, she was panting heavily. Her clothes stated her class as well. Rich, wealthy. A pair of red heels, and a stunning black and red dress. Her beautiful full; thick mahogany hair hung in loose curls over her shoulder, some crawling down her back. She was lovely.
"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" She called over her shoulder, gripping tightly onto the pole, while her other hand held the ledge's bars.
I took a cautious step forward, offering her my hand. "Come on, just give me your hand. I'll pull you back over."
"No, stay where you are! I mean it! I'll let go!" She turned away from me and faced the water, panting.
I approached slowly, gesturing to my cigarette, showing that I was just approaching to merely throw it over the side into the ocean. "No, you won't." I shrugged, digging my hands into my front pockets.
"What do you mean, "No, I won't"? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do, you don't know me!" She hissed.
"Well, you woulda done it already." I shrugged, rocking on my heels.
"You're distracting me! Go away!" She hissed over her shoulder.
"I can't. I'm involved now. You let go, and I'm, I'm 'onna have to jump in there after you." I sighed, hopefully a little reverse phycology would help.. I began untieing my boots, kicking them off to the side, throwing my overcoat off afterwords.
"Don't be absurd. You'd be killed!" She scolded, over her shoulder.
"I'm a good swimmer." I shrugged, taking off my cardigan, throwing it off to the side beside my shoes.
"The fall alone would kill you." She added hesitantly.
"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. Tell you the truth, I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold." I added, it was working. The hesitance in her face was becoming more and more visible. She would never jump.. she couldnt, she wouldnt. I wouldn't let her.
She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Nothing but the white, cold, crisp air. She looked down at the water, and literally shivered.
"How cold?" She asked. Bingo, it was working. I just needed to get her off the damn rail.
"Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over. You ever, uh, you ever been to Wisconsin?" I shrugged. I tried to lighten the conversation.
"What?" She asked almost horrified. Guess it wasn't working.
"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around. I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. I remember when I was a kid, me and my father, we went ice fishing out on Lake Wissota. Ice fishing is, you know, where you..." She cut me off.
"I know what ice fishing is!" She hissed.
"Sorry. You just seem like, you know, kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I, uh, I fell through some thin ice; and I'm telling you, water that cold, like right down there..." I took a few slow, cautious steps towards her and nodded toward the freezing, Atlantic water. " ... it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can't breathe. You can't think. At least, not about anything but the pain. Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you."
She threw me a frantic glance, her breathing picking up.
"Like I said, I don't have a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the railing, an' get me off the hook here." I smiled at her.
"You're crazy." She mumbled.
"That's what everybody says but, with all due respect, Miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here. Come on. C'mon, give me your hand. You don't want to do this." I offered her my hand, and she slowly reached forward, taking her hand in mine. I tightened my grip on her hand. So soft..
"Whew! I'm Edward Masen." I smiled, as I had her facing me, and the deck.
She smiled at me. "Isabella-Marie-Swan." She panted out all too quickly for me to comprehend. Isabella wha?
"I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down."
My eyes opened. And I woke up alone. As usual. I wanted to smile, but my lips held a permanent frown, wrinkles even. All my dreams of her were always left unfinished, or always interrupted, like now. Sometimes in the night, I could have sworn I had my arms wrapped around her, or her head lying on my chest. Sometimes it was like I could smell her. Her beautiful scent of strawberry, or freesia, which was absolutely intoxicating.
But she was gone, and so was I.
I lived alone, all my life. I gave her my heart, and she still had mine; what was left of it at least. I had little friends, and no family. My parents died when I was seventeen, leaving me to fend for myself, which I've always had. I always missed my parents, and I always loved them. I always will.
But all I could think about, all my life, all my years, was her. My guilt, my anger, my remorse.
Chicago. My home. Pictures. They hung throughout the small home, just outside the city. Peace, and quiet. Just like me. They hung framed, or stood on tables. Black and white. Sepia. Various stains, and frames. Moments captured in my long life. Long, and lonely. Some beautiful, some extraordinary. Some I smiled, some I laughed, and some I just looked;
I moved out of bed, like I did everyday. I put on my robe, warming myself away from the cold breeze of Chicago that occasionally drifted through my home.
My bare feet smacked against the wooden floor, as I walked into my favorite room, taking a seat down on the wooden bench.
I sat in the music room, my room; as I referred to it as. My grand piano sat in the middle, the main focus of the small room. Compositions lay neatly organized on my desk. Some framed on the wall, some stacked in a corner off to the side. Some left blank. Some left crumbled, and unfinished.
James, my 'assistant' was preparing breakfast just down the hall. The smell of fresh waffles occupied my home. The echo of a distant television rang through my ears.
My fingers grazed the all too familiar piano keys. Slowly tapping, letting the sweet sound occupy my interests. The way my fingers danced along the keys always soothed me. Nights I couldn't sleep, days I felt like I couldn't breathe, days I felt trapped. Days I wanted to die.
I let my fingers dance randomly; not planning the next note, or the next chorus. Like my fingers had a mind of their own, as well as their arthritis. It's been far too long. The pain suddenly shot through my fingers, causing my wrist to drop onto the keys, slurring the notes.
My instincts took over then, what was left little of them. The man I once was, died many years ago. Many, many, years ago. I rubbed my cold fingers against the shotting pain of my left hand; massaging. The television volume sunk in then, my attention given one hundred percent towards the anchor woman's voice.
"Treasure hunter Carlisle Cullen is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck... the Forks. He is with us live via satellite from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic... hello Carlisle?"
Forks. That was all I needed to hear. I ignored the pain in my fingers, I felt a new sense of pain. I stood up slowly, pushing the bench chair behind me. My attention was now occupied. I walked across the room, making a slow left, the CNN anchor woman's voice, grew louder. An interview?
"Yes, hi, Heidi. You know, Forks is not just A shipwreck, Forks is THE shipwreck. It's the Mount Everest of shipwrecks." The television came into view; as well as James setting the table fore breakfast. I ignored his polite smile, and made my way over towards the small television, which sat on the counter. A man came into view, young. Possibly in his late twenties, early thirties. His hair was blonde, his skin pale, and his eyes a pleasant brown. Handsome man, he reminded me of someone I was knew, once was.
"I've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here recovering some amazing things... things that will have enormous historical and educational value." The man, Carlisle Cullen; the bottom of the screen stated in bold white letters, said.
The screen split in two, showing a young woman, with dirty blonde hair. Heidi Voulturi, the bottom of the screen read.
"But it's no secret that education is not your main purpose. You're a treasure hunter. So what is the treasure you're hunting?" She asked skeptically.
"I'd rather show you than tell you, and we think we're very close to doing just that." Carlisle nodded.
I looked back at James, who was walking about the kitchen, gathering various plates, and utensils. My breakfast laid on the kitchen table adjacent towards the television screen. Without taking my eyes off the screen I slowly backed towards the awaiting chair, and took my seat.
James came into view, setting down the plates, and my breakfast before me. "Turn it up." I mumbled hoarsely. He nodded setting down the last of the items he carried before he walked beside the small screen, and turned the dial.
"Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber." Heidi argued.
James took a seat across from me, pouring orange juice into my empty glass. My eyes stayed glued on the screen of the two blondes having and giving an interview.
"Nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and cataloged properly. Look at this drawing, which was found today..."
The screen then dropped to his hands, which held a very old, rustic piece of paper. The image of a woman came into view, wearing nothing but a heart shaped necklace which laid in the valley of her chest.
"...a piece of paper that's been underwater for 84 years... and my team are able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now...?" Carlisle added, with some enthusiasm in his voice. What a young spirit..
My eyes stayed glued on the drawling. There was no telling I knew exactly who, and what it was. It was her.
So many thoughts, and images flashed through my mind, all incoherent, and un-readable. So blurry, yet so clear. So old, yet so young. My throat burned, and my heart ached, and my fingers were numb. So many words, sounds, I could have made. Yet my voice stayed steady, my face composed. "I'll be God damned."
"What is it, Mr. Masen?" James voice interrupted my thoughts. "Dial that number on the bottom of the screen." I spoke. I pushed my breakfast aside. "Sir?" He asked, his gaze shot towards the cordless phone, debating. "Just dial the number James." I spoke harshly. He nodded, and took a sip of his juice, before jumping up and followed my request.
I watched quietly; his fingers dancing along the phones buttons. The beep beep sound each press, each movement made. He looked at me, and silently passed the phone to me. "Hello?" A young woman's voice cooed into my ears. "Can I help you?" I could hear the smile in her voice, and the envy that growled in my chest. "Yes you can." I shooed James away with my hand, and he nodded, walking off into the living room. "The diamond." I croaked. "The heart of the sea." I felt my lungs contracting. The numbness taking over me. "Have you found it." It was more of a demand than a question.
I heard a gasp on the other end of the line, and the sound of crumbling. "Just a minute sir! Let me get Cullen for you!" I nodded, as if she could have saw me. I heard muffled voices on the other end. "There's a satellite call for you." I heard the same voice I once spoke to. "Alice, we're launching. See these submersibles here, going in the water? Take a message." Ah Alice, it suited her perkiness well. "No, trust me, you want to take this call." Alice said sternly.
My fingers danced impatiently on the old wooden table, the steam of my waffle slowly subsided. My breakfast was getting cold.
Again, I heard rustling on the other end of the line. I also heard another round of voices, and muted shh's. Then I heard just one voice. "This is Carlisle Cullen. What can I do for you, Mr... ?" I cleared my throat, it was burning. "Edward. Edward Masen." The voice grew louder, more clearer. "Mr. Masen?" He had a bit of impatience in his voice, the investigation must've occupied all of it for the moment. "Did you find the "Heart of the Ocean" yet, Mr. Cullen?" I felt like I was growing short with air. The numbness pressing down on me, on my heart.
Was I dying?
"I told you you wanted to take this call." Alice laughed on the other end. "Alright. You have my attention, Edward. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?" Carlisle asked. "My wife." I spoke softly. "The woman in the picture; is my wife."
No, I wasn't dying. Not yet.