Ultio by 22blue.pdf

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5407229/1/

Ultio łac. - zemsta

Tytuły rozdziałów to łacińskie słowa i sentencje. Nie znam łaciny, więc

tłumaczenia zaczerpnięte sa ze słownika i czasem mogą nie mięc większego

sensu, więc proszę o wybaczenie.

Prologue

He was neither a hero nor a villain - not in his mind, although to everyone who

knew him or he had come in contact with he was one or the other and most often

considered the villain. But not to her. Never to her, despite what he had done to

her, the terrible things he had put her through and made her think. He kept

expecting her to break, to turn into an empty shell just like him, yet she never

did. She loved him. She was in love with him. It never failed to both amaze and

humble him.

Edward gripped the black leather steering wheel of the Volvo tightly, careful not

to tear it off the steering column. The sleek, silver car maneuvered tightly around

the corner and passed the tall evergreens lining the road, the golden rays of

sunshine filtering through the trees and glancing sharply off the hood of the car.

When he thought back over the last thirty years, the rage and bitterness still

filled him. His sister's murder had been bad enough to tear the entire family

apart, but his wife's... evisceration had sent Edward spiraling into a dark tunnel of

fury and vengeance. He growled as the mongrel's thoughts of that day came back

to him in rush, reliving the terror, the brutality. Perhaps a better man would have

grieved and learned to live again, as Jasper had. Now, a lifetime later, he wished

he could have allowed Carlisle to comfort him and convince him to stay with the

family.

He pulled the car next to the lush clearing where it first began. So many years

later, it was grown over with fir trees that had replaced what the loggers took,

the rich smell of blood and death no longer heavy in the crisp November air. The

lingering odor of something burning far off to the east came to Edward as he

sniffed deeply. He realized he could also smell the girl, the girl who loved him, all

over his car and his clothes. He winced, the reminder of her also a reminder of

how unworthy he was of her. He didn't deserve her love or the spicy, floral smell

of her sweet skin and hot blood.

Sometimes when Edward felt the faint rushes of his compassion seep through the

thick wall he had built around himself, he would come here to the clearing to

remember, refilling the well of his manic malevolence and stirring him to continue

the torture and blood-soaked mayhem. Today he came to say goodbye to the

past, determined to leave something for Jasper so he could understand the full

extent of the damage Edward had wrought, the pain he had caused, all in the

name of avenging the two women who had meant the most to him. He had

shamed and tainted their memories and blackened his soul; he was nothing but a

monster and sure he would be judged appropriately. He wanted it more than he

had ever wanted anything else. He could practically taste it.

The brown leather journal was still smooth under his fingers, the cotton linen

page Edward had turned to was blank and inviting. He settled himself onto the

soft blanket of fallen pine needles and tipped his fountain pen into the murky

black ink well he had set carefully on the ground beside him. It was a familiar

routine, one that never failed to both comfort and excite him. Even after the first

two kills had deadened his spirit, his initial completion of the threat to take the

dog's loved ones – an eye for an eye – even then, the act of journaling was

cathartic.

Putting pen to paper for the last time, Edward's pain and shame flowed out in

elegant, precise cursive.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

My demons torment me as I think about how this all began. That innocent trip to

thin the deer herd and a boy who didn't believe the legends of his tribe, so

shocked when he transformed for that first time. I was shattered after the

murders - we all were. Perhaps I can use that as an excuse for the malignance

that grew in me, although I know deep down in my soul that there can never be

an excuse for what I have done. I wonder now if I had any right at all to blame

the dog for his actions - Billy was no more able to choose his destiny than I. I

have not always been so responsible about my actions, and I tortured that poor

soul for a decade for something he did on instinct.

Forcing myself to remember his wife is my penance, forcing myself to remember

her thoughts, her pain - it only serves to prove that I am a monster just as surely

as Billy was that night. Even now I want to crawl out of my skin and weep with

the contempt I feel for myself. She was a good, pure soul but I crushed the

delicate bones of her hand as if she were nothing more than a thing. I took

delight in her terror. Yes, I felt slightly guilty when I severed her neck but I did it.

I felt justified, right, as I dismembered her, splashing her red blood all over the

house. Thinking back, I'm surprised I didn't drink her blood. I was tempted, so

tempted. I could nearly feel the warm, viscous liquid pouring down my throat,

sating my barbarous wickedness... as if that were possible. I'm thankful for my

desire not to be polluted by the blood of those I hated, but it wasn't their blood

that polluted me - it was my mind that had become contaminated, every facet of

my life devoted to the ruthless pursuit of retribution. I wanted that woman to

suffer... and she did. God help me, she did.

If only that was the worst thing I had done.

Billy's best friend suffered as he did, all because I was able to justify the virulent

vindictiveness that lived in my heart. By the time I committed my next murders,

all in the name of vengeance, my heart was hardened, my humanity all but

shriveled to a tiny, helpless thing in me that I no longer cared about. I was pure

rage, pure punishment. I had become the very thing I hated, although I couldn't

see it. Perhaps I just refused to see it. I enjoyed plotting against Billy and

Charlie. I did - I loved it. It exhilarated me and very nearly made me happy, or

what passed as happy for me, to watch and wait, showing myself and backing off,

cat and mouse. The look of horror on Billy's face when he'd glimpse me only for a

second in a crowd gave me the most immense, dark satisfaction that, at the time,

even rivaled the feel of my wife's body under mine before he took her from me.

I'm ashamed to say that I enjoyed it – the game and the violence. I gave in to

the most basic nature of a vampire - to kill without conscience. Jasper, I know

you will read this. While you have had some idea of my plan all along, you have

no idea of the full extent, the depths to which I have allowed myself to sink.

Whether you choose to tell the story to Carlisle and dear Esme, to Emmett and

Rosalie, I can never know. In some ways, I never want them to discover my true

self and what I am capable of. Selfishly, I want someone to remember me as I

was instead of the savage demon I have become. I know I don't deserve that,

though. Know that I could never think ill of you, my brother. I love you and do

not blame you for choosing the road that has led you to peace. You have suffered

in ways that drove a lesser man - namely, me - to acts of violence that I never

would have imagined were possible.

Still, nothing compares to the contempt I feel for myself over what I have done to

her. I remember the day I met her for the first time, spoke to her. The way she

cocked her head to the side and smiled at me, so reminiscent of a gesture I had

once loved in someone else. She was just a child at the time, so innocent and

pure. Knowing that I plotted against her from that very day is the worst kind of

treachery. I ruined her life, Jasper. I wanted to ruin her.

You can never fully know the things I did to her, the things I wanted to do. I had

no intention of stopping until she hated her father, until the man I blamed and

hated would not recognize his lovely, sweet daughter. The callous calculation with

which I waited for her to grow to womanhood, the way I manipulated her life...

'ashamed' is not a strong enough word to describe how I feel. I could say that I

am sorry a thousand times and it would not ever be enough.

I made her think she wanted me to take her virginity. I made her think she

wanted the pain and degradation I put her through. She thinks she's unlovable

and unworthy... all because of me. That woman is the most beautiful creature

I've ever seen - truly selfless, truly good. I was intentionally careless with her, a

rough and cruel beast. Somehow she managed to see beneath the depraved

vampire and rediscovered who I used to be. She stripped my soul naked and now

I am bereft, left to understand exactly how low I have sunk in my quest to

destroy those who destroyed me.

It's times like these that I hope Carlisle is right, that there is a god who will judge

us in the next life. I will surely be punished, and I want it as certainly as I wanted

to take everyone from Billy that he loved. An eye for an eye, Jasper. And yet I

cannot bring myself to truly wish it, as you and the rest of the family have

suffered enough. How many times over the last week I wished that I could be

Prometheus, doomed to be punished each day for eternity. I may get my wish if

there is a just god.

Jasper, she delivered me from evil. All the pain I have inflicted, all the mayhem

and murder... she sees nothing but a man who deserves to be loved. I cannot

look at her, so determined to make me whole, and allow her to waste her life on

me. I must, for her own good, set her free.

I have nothing but regrets.

Edward finally put down his pen and blotted the page carefully before closing the

leather book firmly. He wanted Jasper to understand but he could not bring

himself to detail all the horrendous things he had done in minute detail. He was

too ashamed to give Jasper a full accounting of the things for which he was

penitent.

The late afternoon sun was changing now, turning the gold light into a cerulean-

hued dusk. A light snow began to fall, the first white flakes coming to rest on

Edward's copper-colored hair. He worried that the pages in which he had carefully

bared his wretchedness would be ruined, so he walked to the car and quickly

leaned in to store the journal away in the glove compartment for safe keeping.

The crumpled receipt from the piercing shop mocked him from the glove box's

depths. He remembered it with perfect clarity - how her discomfort had pleased

him, the lovely blush on her face as she bared her body and waited, scared and

nervous, for the pain. Edward pressed the heels of his hands hard against his

eyes, wishing he could forget the perverse delight he had taken in her sharp

intake of breath and the fire that had raced through her body. Before he could

stop himself, he was caught up in the memory of that night.

He heard snatches of her thoughts as she shuffled quietly down the hall toward

his apartment. She was thinking about how oddly her father had been acting,

trying to talk her into taking an extended vacation far, far away. He had been

acting twitchy and wouldn't answer her questions. Edward smirked, grateful that

his plan to torture the man was taking its toll. That man would suffer as Edward

had, as Billy surely had.

The timid knock at Edward's door came a few seconds later. He didn't move from

his spot on the couch for a few moments as he thought about what her nipples

would look like pierced. Her breasts were small, but her nipples were large and

perky. Edward couldn't quite imagine them with the addition of jewelry, but a

rush of sexual desire made his dick harden in his pants as he tried.

Finally, Edward moved slowly to the door and opened it just as the slight brunette

was turning to leave with a horribly disappointed look in her large, brown eyes.

He arranged his face into the cocky smile he always wore around her and

positioned his body languidly against the chipped door frame.

"Leaving so soon?" Edward crooned. "But I have such plans for us tonight."

She turned around with a hopeful smile on her full lips. He could feel the extent

of her infatuation with him; she was thinking that maybe he'd take her out for a

nice dinner, perhaps a walk along the beach.

"Oh?" she asked sweetly. "What are we doing?" She was dressed conservatively,

as usual, in a floral knee length wrap dress; she had pinned the v-neck closed to

avoid displaying too much cleavage. She looked beautiful, fresh-faced, and still

alluringly innocent. Before his wife had been murdered, the girl's naïveté would

have appealed to Edward very much. Even now he could appreciate it, even if his

heart was dead and black.

"It's a surprise," he replied, leaning over to lick up the delicate line of her hot

neck. He could smell the fecund blood under her skin, feel it pumping through

her. For only a fraction of a second, he thought about sinking his venom-coated

teeth into the fine skin on her throat and ending it. Draining her dry. Arranging

her body in her father's favorite ratty recliner and training her unseeing eyes on

the front door so he would see the girl right away.

But Edward was a patient man. He could wait. He could spend the time to break

her, to humiliate her, to hurt what was her father's pride and joy. He would crush

the man in exactly the way Charlie and Billy had crushed Edward and destroyed

Jasper.

Her brown eyes looked up at Edward through long eyelashes, and he grabbed her

small hand roughly after locking the door of his apartment. He dragged her down

the hallway quickly as she stumbled clumsily after him and buckled her into his

Volvo when they reached the garage. He could hear her thinking about how much

he had hurt her hand, wondering why he felt it necessary to be so rough with her

all the time, and then immediately she felt contrite for thinking badly of him,

thinking about the pleasure he brought her when they made love. She had

convinced herself that he could grow to love her, if only she could somehow be

good enough for him, although she couldn't quite understand herself why his love

was so important to her. Edward was disgusted. She was pathetic yet perfect. He

adored her and hated her. He wanted to do nothing but love her forever and

destroy her immediately. He pushed his confused feelings aside and instantly felt

guilty for daring to think of another woman with tenderness other than his dead

wife. They were on the road shortly, driving quickly toward Port Angeles in

silence.

"May I put on some music?" she asked politely. He nodded his permission and

she reached out to press the play button on the CD player. Johnny Cash came

softly out of the speakers. Edward loved the American IV album, particularly

Cash's version of "Hurt." He listened to the song often, reveling in Cash's gut-

wrenching vocals. He hummed the words silently in his head: I will let you down,

I will make you hurt. I wear my crown of shit on my liar's chair, full of broken

thoughts I cannot repair. Beneath the stain of time the feeling disappears. You

are someone else, I am still right here. What have I become? My sweetest

friend... everyone I know goes away in the end.

He felt a kinship with this human, both of them emotionally broken. Instead of

wallowing, Edward had chosen vengeance. He recalled making his vow: he will

suffer... they all will.

Before long they arrived at their destination. Edward parked in a deserted lot and

opened her door, always the gentleman, even when his goal was to squelch the

lovely light in this girl's heart.

She was confused when he helped her out of the car and she took in the

dilapidated neighborhood they were in, looking at the seedy building next to the

parking lot.

"Red Region?"

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