Nell grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume.
«Authorities are still searching for leads in connection with the disappearance of Shelly Turner, a seventeen-year-old student from Forks. Shelly's parents reported her missing three days ago; she was last seen in Seattle leaving a bar. There's suspicion it could be a new gang or a serial killer.»
A picture of Shelly flashes on the screen, and Nell shivers. The blonde hair, blue eyes, the faded freckles cascading across her porcelain skin. She recognizes her. She knows that girl.
Eleanor forces herself not to think about what she must look like now: pale, stiff, cold.
The image on the television changes, and a man and a woman appear, both middle-aged and severely sleep-deprived. They stand silently to the side until the woman pleads into the camera:
"Shelly," she says, "wherever you are, we're waiting for you, honey. We're looking for you, and we're going to find you."
The man sniffles, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve and rubbing the snot under his nose with the back of his hand. The woman pats his arm for him to continue.
"To whoever has her, or has information about her whereabouts, we beg you to come forward. We just want our daughter back."
The man starts to cry now, spasmodically. The woman continues, not taking her eyes off the camera.
It's a tactic the police teach you, Nell had learned: look at the camera. Speak to the camera. Speak to him.
Suddenly, the television went black. And she turned to face her brother.
—Why did you do that?
—So you'd stop torturing yourself.
Nell rolled her eyes.
They stayed silent for a while. God knows how long. She bites the inside of her cheek to avoid answering, however, when she started to taste blood from biting it so much, she spoke:
—You can't keep me in the dark.
Steve snorted.
—Come on, Nell—he said with an expression that wavered between irritation and impatience—I'm trying to protect you.
—I know— she ventures, and raises her head to look at him—I know that's how it is. But let me tell you that's not the way to keep me safe. If I don't know what's going on, how do you expect me to know what dangers are lurking out there?
Steve looks at her. For a moment, it looks like he's going to protest, his lips part a little, but instead he squeezes her shoulder.
—I understand you're worried. But we both know how these things affect you. And that's okay. Traumas aren't easy to overcome. That's why I booked you an appointment with Dr. Carlisle Cullen.
Nell's eyes widened in astonishment. No, it was more than that. It was bitterness, anguish, and anger.
—A doctor's appointment?—she protested, louder than she should have— What's wrong with you, Steve?
—Calm down, Nell.
—No— she replies—What you're saying... crosses any line. That you can't accept the trauma, that you can't accept being another messed-up Blake in the family is your problem, not mine.
—Oh, come on—he protests—Don't get dramatic.
—I'm not getting dramatic—she shouts—I'm just asking you to stop being a coward for once.
—Nell...I don't want to argue.
—Then stop talking.
There was a while of silence before someone said something again.
—Listen—she finally started, arms crossed—You're my brother, and I love you. But you're not going to make me live in a bubble where nothing ever happens. Reality is harsh, we know that well, and I understand it—She licked her lips for a second, not wanting to say the following words—If it makes you feel better, I'll go see Doctor Cullen.—she raised a finger to emphasize her comment—ONLY, this time, okay? And if it's not what you expected, then I'm sorry. I won't see any other doctor again.
Steve frowned and, for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Instead, he nodded his head.
—Okay.
Nell sighs, and he pulls her into a hug. Letting the anger fade away. After all, that was their dance. They disagreed, shouted, argued. They didn't talk for a while, however, when they finally did, they were those kids again running barefoot through the forest playing hide-and-seek with Luke.
In her mind, it seemed more like a dream than a memory. Because the bad moments always overshadowed everything. Like a lunar eclipse. But she didn't let the bad consume her completely. Just her waning crescent: while one side remained trapped in the past, the other struggled to cope and reach the shore to stay safe.
In her room, Nell lay down on the bed and rested her head against the wall. Many things had happened. Things that she could not fully understand: the dream she had and the strange connection that existed between it, Emmett Cullen and the missing person's announcement on television.
If she connected the dots, the answer was simply absurd: Emmett was the kidnapper. That couldn't be true. It couldn't…right?
I mean, he was nice, joking, friendly, sometimes spoke like he came from another era, but he wasn't a bad person. He wasn't. She repeated it to herself ad nauseam. Until she understood that his impeccable profile was the exact example of a psychopath.
Nell closed her eyes and sighed, removing those ideas from her mind. Instead, she remembered Shelly Turner.
She wore her blonde hair in two braids when she met her. She shared a table with her in Introduction to Calculus class. She asked her all kinds of questions that Nell refused to answer. Even so, Shelly didn't reject her.
People looked at her when she walked, and she knew it. The boys liked her. And Nell too. Actually, she envied her. She envied the way she conveyed all that self-confidence. She envied her until Nell saw her face on the television screen.
And the next day, that face was plastered on the walls of the school. Nell stared at it. By choosing that photo you were choosing the only isolated moment that the world will remember, that moment and nothing else.
But she remembers Shelly. And not in such a superficial way as a photo.
—Did you know her?
She stopped reading and fixed her eyes on the person next to her. Her thoughts began to take very dark paths: the nightmare, her strange relationship with the disappearances. She shuddered a little.
She looked at the posters again.
—We shared class in Introduction to Calculus—whispered.
Emmett grimaced.
—That's a shame…
Nell looked at him, frowning.
—Do you think she's dead?
—When something disappears, it does so forever. So the news already anticipates the tragedy.
—Aren't the police doing anything to find the culprit?
He looked at her.
—The police do what they can with what they've got. Usually, the criminal is two steps ahead.
She sighs. She tries to control her fingers. What if the criminal wanted the bodies to be found...but not by the police? A thought too terrifying to consider. She tried to push it away, tried to dismiss the idea as pure primal, instinctive fear. Another irrational survival mechanism that her mind generated to make sense of something ridiculous. As ridiculous as the thought that Emmett Cullen was a kidnapper.
—What's wrong?
Nell heard his voice, worried. She blinked, coming out of the trance.
—Nothing. I just feel nauseous.
He inspected her in silence for a few seconds.
—Do you want me to walk you to the nurse's office...?—He tried to step closer, but she recoiled. Emmett looked at her, confused.
Nell ran a hand over her face.
—No. I'm fine, I...I have to go.
With that kind of plea, she walked away across the grounds until she entered the building. And Emmett was left completely stunned in place.
During lunch, she sat with Bella and her friends. However, she didn't participate in the conversation. She remained silent, looking at the Cullen's table, who, to her suspicion, were also looking at her. She focused her gaze on Emmett. His gaze was a collection of emotions: intrigue, worry, anxiety. But Nell knew that looks, no matter how authentic they seemed, could sometimes end up not being so. Rather, forced, scripted. Just for the sake of generating empathy.
Nell closed her eyes, frustrated, for a moment.
—Trust your gut—she told herself—Trust your instinct.
She sighed, trying to stop the trembling in her hands. What did her instinct say?
Then she realizes, and growls.
If Emmett wasn't guilty of the disappearances, he had to be guilty of something. Nell felt it in the air; that mysterious and dark aura hanging around him. As if they all carried a dark past that they didn't want to tell anyone. Just like her.
She gets up from the table with the tray - an unopened soda and an untouched salad - and throws everything in the trash.
—Nell?—Bella called out, seeing her action. But she ignored her to get out of there as soon as possible. She had a knot in her stomach.
Nell speculated the possibility of faking a little and escaping to the nurse's office for the rest of the day.
Ridiculous. She didn't have to run. However, she did.
And when leaving the school, she took a quick look at the other side of the parking lot. Alice and Jasper were talking comfortably with Edward and Bella. Rosalie and Andrew were absorbed in a separate world. While Emmett had his eyes fixed on her; with a seriousness she had not seen before.
Nell looked away and walked off.
●●●
Nell turned the page of the magazine she was flipping through. It was the third one she'd read while waiting her turn. She couldn't seem to calm her anxiety any other way. She glanced at the news on the television across from her. The same commercial kept playing, and it would be for a long time.
—Eleanor Blake?
She jumped at the sound of the man's voice. He was wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard. He was young, blond, and more handsome than any movie star, though he was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he had to be a Cullen.
Nell approached, and he shook her hand.
—I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen— he introduced himself—I spoke with your brother on the phone a few days ago. He asked me to check you out—He gestured toward the office—Please, come in.
She entered shyly and cautiously. The doctor went ahead of her and sat down at the desk to scribble a few notes on her chart.
Suddenly, he moved his chair in front of her.
—Well, Miss Blake—Dr. Cullen said with a markedly gentle voice—how are you feeling?
—Physically fine, I guess.
He took out a penlight and had her look at the light. First one eye, then the other. He did the same with her ears.
—Do you often get headaches? Migraines?
—No.
Carlisle wrote a few more things on his chart.
—Have you ever had panic attacks or anxiety attacks?
Nell licked her lips.
—Yes.
He nodded and continued writing.
—Since when?
«Since my father murdered my mother and all those poor children» she thought.
But she couldn't tell him that. It didn't matter how much Dr. Cullen had heard about the Blakes or the specific case. It wasn't something you could talk about freely and without reservations.
—Since I was thirteen—she said.
—Do you take tranquilizers?
Nell grimaced.
—I used to take Xanax until last year.
Cullen looked up from his papers.
—Xanax?
At his puzzled expression, Nell nodded.
—That's a pretty strong drug for someone of your build—he frowned with curiosity—Did a doctor prescribe it?
Nell nodded again.
Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows.
—Well, if you happen to have another attack, take Klonopin. That should help stabilize you. I'll prescribe it as a medical order anyway.
He scribbled on his chart a little more.
—Take off your gloves for a minute. I need to take your pulse.
Nell swallowed.
She didn't want to show them to him. She didn't want him to know what she knew. And she didn't want to see things either. Not right now.
—Is it really necessary?— she asked.
Cullen looked at her and raised the pulse oximeter in his hand, giving her a reassuring smile.
—It doesn't work with gloves on— he said—It'll only be a few seconds, don't worry.
Seeing that she had no other choice, Nell slowly took them off, trying not to make any sudden movements. She felt strange without them, as if she were exposed. However, the reality was that she was.
When the Doctor approached, seriousness suddenly flooded him, though without losing his professional air.
He touched her hands and placed them on his, instructing her to push against the pressure he was applying.
—How long have you had these burns?—the Doctor asked, suddenly focused on what he was doing.
—Since I was six.
He looked up at her for a moment. Then, he began to analyze her scars: he moved her fingers, tested the back of her hand, and then touched her skin.
An image appeared in her mind: a pale face in profile, illuminated by sunlight. It was Carlisle, and he was shimmering. His whole face was shimmering like a raw diamond. But something changed. It wasn't a sensation, but a physical reaction, deep in her gut, beneath her skin, in her lungs, that took her breath away. The image of something ancient and thirsty. Blood and heat.
Someone who was watching. Who was searching. Who was seeing.
Someone. Something.
Something human and not human.
Something that had fangs and sank them into others.
Nell had been afraid before. But she had never felt a fear as great as this. Not with her father, nor with the kidnapper on the news. This fear surpassed any other. It reached her bones. It ran through her body and closed her throat.
She couldn't move. Nor could she stop feeling.
The only thing she managed to do was scream before being dragged into darkness.