"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though." I began.
I watched her face carefully for any sign of distress. She showed no emotion. I continued, "He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves...and vampires."
Her pulse began picking up at the last word; I continued without pausing, "When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of his raids. At first Carlisle was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and more clever than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of a city, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.
"The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course," I laughed in a non humorous way at the thought of a human bringing harm to a vampire. I continued, "and waited where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually one emerged."
I knew I had arrived at the part of the story where I wasn't sure how to proceed. I went on, but kept my voice low, "He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle - he was twenty-three and very fast - was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature would have easily outrun them, but Carlisle thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle bleeding in the street."
I paused. The images that were in my mind were of the agony that he felt. The pain of the venom breaking through his veins and causing him to burn for days was forefront in my mind. I met Bella's eyes and she was eager for me to continue.
"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned - anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself with rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered. It was over then, and he realized what he had become."
My eyes had never left Bella's. Most of the color had drained from her face during my story. She didn't know much of the transformation process and I am sure that she was learning some things that she hadn't known before. She was silent and I was worried I had gone too far, "How are you feeling?" I asked.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
She hadn't convinced me though. In a nervous gesture, she began biting at her lower lip. She looked like she wanted to say something; she was hesitating. Curiosity was burning in her eyes. She was regaining her color and I was becoming frustrated once again at the silence of her knowing mind.
"I expect you have a few more questions for me." I guessed.
"A few."
Of course she did, she was always curious; always interested in things she shouldn't be interested in.
"Come on, then," I smiled, "I'll show you."
We turned around and I brought her back to Carlisle's office.
I'm guessing you want to show her the pictures, Carlisle wondered, "Come in," he invited.
I slowly pushed the door open. Carlisle was sitting behind his desk in his leather chair.
Perfect timing, Carlisle thought, "What can I do for you?" he asked.
Carlisle rose from his seat. He was already aware of what I was up to, but I didn't want Bella to think we were having our normal silent conversations.
"I wanted to show Bella some of our history. Well, your history, actually," I explained to him.
"We didn't mean to disturb you," Bella apologized.
Silly Bella, I thought.
She sure is polite, isn't she? Carlisle smiled, "Not at all," he looked at me, "Where are you going to start?" he asked.
I had many stories in mind and I decided I would start out as simple as Carlisle's story could ever be, "The Waggoner."
I placed my hand on Bella's shoulder. An electric shock rose up my arm and through my body. I knew she felt it too because her heart starting pounding, her pulse racing.
Does that always happen? To deny yourself what you crave most when her pulse rises is truly significant in your relationship. You two are truly meant to be together. Carlisle's thoughts continued more to himself.
I turned Bella to face an oil painting that was on the wall behind her, ignoring Carlisle. I could tell that she was interested again.
"London in the sixteen-fifties," I explained. I knew questions must have been racing through her mind.
Carlisle walked up behind Bella. His continuous flow of thoughts had stopped, "The London of my youth," he added.
Bella must not have realized he was behind her because she recoiled at the sound of his voice. I squeezed her hand.
"Will you tell the story?" I wondered. I didn't want to get anything wrong, or put my foot in my mouth.
I'm sorry. You will have to explain it to her because I must leave for work. Don't worry, you'll do fine. Carlisle thought.
"I would," he turned to Bella, "But I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning - Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides," his eyes met mine, "you know the stories as well as I do." Carlisle had a wide smile across his face.