Several people mentioned they were curious about Ed Sr.'s take of the situation, what was he thinking when he did all these horrible things. Ed Sr. started to haunt me a little. I wondered myself what was thinking. So, here's Dickward Sr.'s addled views of the tragic events that irrevocably changed Edward's life.
This may seem disjointed and his viewpoints change a lot...he goes from monster to loving father, to monster in two seconds flat. It's disorganized and jumbled for a reason...I assure you it's not my vacation brain. ;)
I never in a million years expected to see those eyes, that face, ever again, but when I looked up from the piano, I swear to god I'd seen a ghost.
As much as I didn't want to believe it, as much as I needed it not to be him, I knew when I saw that spark of fear in those emerald-green eyes that it was him. Edward. My one and only son.
He was the spitting image of his mother; the hair, the eyes, the mouth. The only thing he got from me was his height and build.
And then he was on the floor. Just as fast as we recognized each other, even after all these years, he went down like a ton of lead.
Just like his mother.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
A large burly guy shouted at him while a tall blonde one got down on one knee beside him. Someone I hadn't seen in a long time looked up at me, disbelief painted his face.
Carlisle fucking Cullen.
"Ed?" he asked, shocked.
"Carlisle, I'm just as surprised as you are. I never would have expected to bump into you here. Um, is that...is it really...?"
"Yes, it is. I think you should step back. I don't think it's a good idea for him to see you right away; he's obviously in shock.
The demon began to awaken. "This is my bar, Carlisle. I think you should step back."
Edward began to stir on the floor.
"Please, Ed. I'm not sure it would be a good idea for him to see you right now."
"Carlisle?" the big burly one said, "should we get him out here? He hasn't had that much to drink, I can't understand why he'd keel over like that. Hey, who's the piano dude?"
"Ed Masen," I said, holding out my hand.
"Hey, I'm Emmett...wait...Ed Masen...?" he looked at my pale, unconscious son, back to me, then back to Edward. "No fucking way!"
He pulled his hand out of mine and stepped back. "You...you're..."
"Edward's father," I finished.
"No. Fucking. Way."
Carlisle snapped at him. "Emmett, language. Help Jasper get Edward out of here, please get him outside. I need to talk to Ed for a minute."
The big guy shook his head sadly, then returned to Edward and the guy I presumed to be Jasper. They gently lifted my semi-conscious son, and carried him out.
Carlisle looked back at me, fury burning in his blue eyes.
"He didn't know," he said.
"He didn't know what?"
"That you were out of prison."
"You didn't tell him?"
"Why the hell not?"
"He's not your son anymore, Ed. As far as he's been concerned for the last 20 years, you didn't exist. You were just part of a recurring nightmare he had."
I could feel the hot ball of anger building up. "He doesn't know about me? What do you mean he's not my son?"
"You signed away parental rights, Ed. You may share DNA but that's it."
"How dare you, you pompous ass!" I flexed my eager fists.
"No," Carlisle seethed, "how dare you, Ed? You killed his mother in front of him. How dare you be so arrogant to think that he'd be happy to see you?"
"But he remembers me?"
"Obviously. He knows what happened, we didn't hide the essentials from him, we told him if he wanted to know more about what happened that we'd tell him. We also said we'd tell him about you, but he never asked."
"Carlisle, I've been out for two years and you didn't tell him? No wonder the kid passed out."
The good doctor sighed. "I should go check on the boys. We'd appreciate it if you didn't contact him, Ed. At least not right away."
"He's a grown man, Carlisle, let him make that decision for himself."
"We will. He knows now where to find you if he wants to."
With that, he left the building. That privileged piece of shit—he always looked down on me—him in his perfectly pressed Polo shirts and khaki pants. He and Esme were always looking down their noses at us. Sure, we didn't have a nice house, fancy clothes or cars, but we had each other.
How dare that smug prick tell me Edward wasn't my son! I raised him for the first two years of his life; I clothed and fed him. He was as much mine, if not more, than he was a Cullen.
Sure, I signed away my rights to him when I was incarcerated; what else could I do? Liz was dead and they put me away, I couldn't very well raise him from prison and I wasn't going to damn him to a life of living in the system. As much as the kid drove me nuts, it wasn't all his fault his mother pissed me off that night. He deserved better.
"Scotch, neat, please," I said, ordering a drink. My hands were shaking and I couldn't play piano in this shape.
No, no...don't think about her, not now. Time to put it all back in the closet where it belongs.
"Hey, Piano Man, play us some Billy Joel."
I sighed and nodded as I resumed my position at the baby grand. I took a drink, stretched my fingers, and began to play. The piano was my only saving grace from the onslaught of memories, voices, and bullshit that pummeled me relentlessly.
I lay in bed after work, replaying the events of the night. Edward's eyes haunted me, probably because they weren't just his eyes, they were hers. At least this time there was some life behind them. The last time I saw her beautiful eyes they stared blankly at me, through me. Edward looked up at me, crying silently, his chubby little hands covered in blood, her blood.
Shaking my head, I hoped desperately to dislodge myself from the onslaught of memories.
Damn him...Damn the Cullens.
Could I blame Edward though? He was a baby, innocent, barely speaking. If Elizabeth hadn't been so intent on protecting the little shit, she might still be here. Everything was perfect before he was born. Liz and I lived a happy life; she kept a clean house, fed me well, and serviced me the way a good girlfriend/wife should. She knew her role and didn't question it. She loved me, she made me feel alive, she adored me...
...until she went and got knocked up. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped caring about me; it was always about the baby. 'The baby this,' 'the baby that.'
Then she started talking about leaving. LEAVING! How dare she? She was always going on and on about how I was crazy, I had problems, I drank too much, I hit her too much, I wanted sex too much...her bitching was endless.
I knew who it was behind it; it was Esme. Esme was planting evil seeds in Liz's head. I tried to keep them apart, but somehow her evil sister managed to have contact with her and poisoned our relationship.
One night in particular, Liz and I had gotten into a huge fight about her leaving if I didn't stop.
"Stop what?" I yelled.
"Stop all this bullshit! The hitting, the yelling, the drinking, the sex..."
"The sex? You love it and you know it!"
"No! No, I don't! It's not right. You're too rough. What about the baby?" she started crying.
I saw red.
"The baby? The baby? It's always about the fucking baby. What about me? What about my needs, huh? I should have made you get an abortion."
She spat in my face. "Fuck you! If you don't want the baby, then you sure as hell don't want me."
Shoving me to the side, she walked toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" I shouted as I grabbed her arm.
"I'm leaving. Let go of me. NOW!"
The red turned darker, my vision clouded, and the next thing I know, she's laying unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.
How the...I didn't do that. She must have slipped. I thought as I stared down at her unmoving form.
Knowing I would get the blame, I left the house, went to the nearest payphone, and called 911, leaving an anonymous tip that there was a pregnant woman in trouble.
Then I went to the bar and had a drink, waiting for them to arrest me because I knew that once the bitch woke up, she'd blame me, and they'd believe her because they were all always against me.
Edward was born that night. The damn kid survived. It's not that I necessarily wanted it to die, I just wanted it gone. It was coming between me and my Liz.
Edward Anthony Masen Jr. was the downfall of my relationship and indirectly the reason his mother and my one true love died.
Elizabeth refused to come home after she got out of the hospital. She went to live with her bitch sister, Esme; where she and the brat stayed there for about a year. Over that time, while in jail, I managed to chill out, stop drinking, and deal with some anger management issues. Bit by bit, once I got out of jail, I convinced her to go out with me, much against Esme's wishes.
I was a true gentleman and wooed her every way possible. It was easy because I loved her with every fibre of my being. My existence served only to make her happy, to make her mine again.
It worked. Just after the brat turned one, they moved back in with me. I had hoped she'd leave him behind with the Cullens, but no; she just had to bring him along.
To be fair, the kid wasn't all bad. He really loved music; he and I would spend hours at the piano. He'd sway and dance while I played; his smile was contagious. I bought him a toy piano to play with and he loved to bang away on it. Whenever he'd see it, his eyes would light up and he'd clap excitedly. He would be a gifted musician, I could see it in him even then.
But then he'd ruin the moment and cry. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't a chronic crier, I'd been around worse kids than Edward; however, the sound of his wailing drove me insane. I tried to hold back the anger, but he threw me over the edge one day. He'd been crying for days and Liz said that he had a fever. Fever or not, I couldn't tolerate the noise anymore, so I picked him up and shook him. Hard.
I know, I know, never shake a baby, but I did and the kid passed out. I thought I'd killed him. I gave him back to Liz and left the room, I couldn't look at his limp little body any more.
Liz came after me not long after, and man, was she pissed off! She went up one side of me and down the other. She threatened to castrate me in my sleep if I ever dared touch the kid again; told me I wasn't even to change his diaper.
Her eyes darkened before she spit at me and said that if I ever felt the need to hit him, shake him, or even yell at him again that I was to do it to her instead. She must have thought I was such a monster. I don't like hitting them, they just make me so mad that I can't control it, as soon as I see red...
So, I didn't touch the boy. Whenever he screamed to the point I couldn't take it anymore, Liz ended up bruised. I hated doing it, really, I did. I drank to bury the guilt, and when I drank, things happened. It was a neverending cycle.
I thought things were getting better until the day I realized she was secretly saving money. She was planning to leave me—I knew it then; it couldn't have been any clearer.
I took the money and got drunk. When I got home, I was horny and showed that I was sorry and how much I loved her. When I came to a couple of hours later, she was curled up in a ball crying.
Ugh! So much crying. It was really starting to get to me. Both of them were ungrateful. I worked hard to put food on the table and diapers on the kid's ass, and how do they repay me? With tears. Fucking saline.
Liz started acting strange after that; she was distant, kept herself holed away with the boy as much as she could. I thought she was plotting her escape and I was right. I came home early one night and found her dragging the boy and a suitcase down the stairs.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" I said, calmly.
Her face paled, enhancing those green eyes of hers. She stammered for a minute before she set the boy down, stood up straight and said, "I'm leaving and you're not going to stop me."
I felt the heat building, my vision was tinted pink. "Really? Why's that?"
"You touched him again, didn't you."
It was an accusation, not a question.
"No," I said, and I hadn't.
"He's got bruises."
"He's a clumsy toddler. He probably fell again."
"Ed, don't lie to me," she spat, "I will not tolerate your lies anymore."
My vision turned a darker red. My nose flared to release some of the steam building up inside of me. One more pushed button and I was going to explode.
"Elizabeth," I warned.
"No, Ed, I've had it. We're leaving."
She reached down for Edward's chubby hand, took one step and I lost it. Last straw. Camel's back, broken. A wave of crimson flooded my eyes and I hauled off and hit her.
Liz fell over, landing on the boy, who looked up at me with HER eyes and cried silently. He was terrified and by the looks of it, finally figured out that wailing makes Daddy angrier.
I gave her a kick in the ribs, ordering her to get up. She cried out as I'm sure I must have broken a rib or two. "Where the hell do you think you're going to go? Huh? Who's going to take you in, you worthless piece of shit? Esme? Did you call big sister to bail you out again?"
She whimpered as she clung to Edward. I grabbed him and shoved him aside. He hit a table and went down with a thud like a sack of potatoes.
"EDWARD!" she screamed, as she watched him fall limply to the floor. When she turned back to look at me she yelled, "YOU MONSTER!"
I stood back and smiled at her. Deep down I knew this was wrong; that you don't beat the ones you love, but I couldn't stop. My vision was now an opaque blood red. I could barely see, but I knew my target.
Grabbing her by that beautiful silky bronze hair, I smashed her head into the floor a couple of times before punching her repeatedly in the abdomen, chest, head, face. I couldn't stop. I was crying at this point because I knew I'd just knocked the life out of the only person who had ever loved me. I saw the moment when her soul departed and that ever-present spark was extinguished in her eyes.
"STOP STARING AT ME!" I screamed as I got up. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
My hands were covered with blood. I felt dirty. The red was dimming and yet all I could see was red, sticky, dark red blood. It covered me. I ran upstairs to the bathroom to shower. So dirty. So bad. So wrong.
When I came back down I realized the magnitude of what I'd done. Edward, my son, our son, was kneeling in a pool of his mother's blood, crying and whispering for her to wake up.
"Wake, Momma; Dada mad. Peas, Momma. Wake."
He heard me coming down the stairs, looked up at me, froze for a moment before he threw himself on his mother's lifeless body, and said: "No more, Dada; Momma sleeping. Please, no more." It sounded more like No moe, Dada; Momma seepin.' Peas, no moe.
Then it hit me. Not only had I just killed the woman I loved, the only person to ever show me compassion, but I killed the only person who loved that poor, bloody, little boy. Who would raise Edward?
I flashed back to when I was a kid, when social services had taken us out of our home and put us in foster care. Could I have just damned this child, this poor innocent, although mildly annoying, child to a life of abuse worse than he'd experienced at home?
A wave of nausea took over and I fell to the floor. I vomited a couple of times, then sat there staring at the wrath of my demon. Edward cried and trembled, probably afraid I'd hit him again. I smiled at him and motioned for him to come. He shook his head no. I did it again and said, "Please, Eddie, I won't hurt you. Dada promises."
Reluctantly he got up and limped over to me. I held my arms out to him for a hug and he resisted. I don't blame him, he probably only remembered that the only time I ever touched him was when I hurt him.
Eventually he approached me and crawled onto my lap. I held him tenderly, rocking him, trying to console him as a father should. It was a little late, but it seemed like the right time. He was sticky with blood and I couldn't tell if it was his or his mother's.
"Sh, Eddie, it's okay."
"Yes, son, Momma's sleeping."
"Dada made owie."
I sighed. "Yes, Dada made owie. He's so sorry."
He pointed to his head. "Eddie's head hurt."
I kissed the bloody gash on the back of his head. "I'm so, so, sorry, kiddo."
I started crying as the weight of my anger crashed down. I knew what I had to do. Edward needed to get away from his mother's corpse and I had to get out. I stood up with him in my arms and walked to his bedroom where I put him in his crib.
"Eddie, you need to have a nap, okay? When you wake up, Dada will be gone but hopefully Auntie Esme will come get you, okay?"
"Momma?" he cried out, his arms outstretched through the wood bars of his crib. "Momma!"
"It's okay, kiddo. It'll all be okay, soon."
I kissed the top of his bloody head and left. I stopped long enough to leave a note asking them to call Esme to get Edward. As much as I hated her, I knew she wouldn't let him down. I picked up the phone, called 911, told them where to find Liz and Edward and told them I'd be at the bar, behind the piano.
Prison wasn't so bad. I learned how to control the demon, or at least I thought I had. I went twenty years without striking another person. Liz was the last person I ever hit, until now.
When Edward called me not two weeks after our encounter at the bar I was shocked. I really hadn't held out any hope of hearing from him.
Why was it so important for me to see him? I wanted to apologize, I wanted to find out if he'd had a good life with the Cullens. No doubt he'd been spoiled rotten and while that drove me insane, I felt a little better, I mean, I did take his mother. He deserved a better life than the one I'd left him.
I should have known he'd have been poisoned against me. Esme hated me, there was never any doubt about that. He and I never had a chance at a clean slate, I knew that, but I had hoped that maybe he'd be above all that.
He was sitting at a table in Starbucks, nervously stirring his drink. I offered a handshake but the little prick refused to shake my hand; too good for his ex-con daddy, I guess. Strike number one.
Strike number two came when I called him son. His venom-laced words cut through me like shards of glass when he said I gave my right to call him that when I killed his mother. I suppose he's correct and has a right to be mad, but this blatant disrespect would not do. I did my time and I have to live with her eyes haunting me every day. I'm not proud of what I did, but it happened. Time to move on.
Strike three was when he accused me of raping his mother. How dare he? I never once raped Liz. I may have had to convince her to make love to me, but rape? Husbands don't rape their wives. Sex is a part of any healthy relationship. Rape happens when a person forces themselves on an unwilling stranger, Liz was mine and I had a right and a duty to have sex with her whenever I wanted.
Needless to say, I lost it. Before I could rein in the demon, i punched my son in the face. He stood there, chest puffed out in blatant arrogance; no doubt he learned that from the Cullens. He didn't pay the least bit attention to the blood running down his face.
He started making more accusations about how he knew I'd tried to kill him before he was born, how he'd read her diaries and he knew I was a monster.
Monster. No one had called me a monster since Liz had, and it hurt. So I punched him again.
A beautiful brown-haired girl ran toward us, screaming for me to stop. When Edward turned to tell her to stay back, I punched him again. Coward that I am, I sucker punched my son, dropping him to the ground. The girl ran to his side, yelling at me about How could you? and all that. I lost it again.
I kicked her in the head. I didn't mean to hit her so hard, and when she went down, Edward turned back to look at me, hatred in his eyes, and said words I will never forget.
"Kicking another pregnant woman while she's down," he laughed bitterly. "Some things never change, DAD."
He was right. I am still a monster. I ran away as fast as I could before the demon really decided to make itself known.
Hope Ed Sr.'s confusing brain didn't give you a headache.
Big love to everyone who is so involved in this story, who care enough to ask for more, who are patient when I take a little longer to get things up and running.
More outtakes to come in future days. Not necessarily Ed Sr.'s POV.