themidnightson: (Of Marble Instead of Man)
[personal profile] themidnightson

He's been thinking about it.

In days, hours, minutes, weeks, seconds. Has it been a month yet.
Holding together pieces of a string when consciousness is never lost.
But the idea of being found, of holding on, is as ludicrious as wanting to.

The grains in the beam of the ceiling above him don't change. Like him.
The weather is warm with freak cold fronts, constant pressure changes.

The crowds outside inside are the only reason he knows it's December




The effort even to press the button is monumental. And within milliseconds of achieving it already questions if it's real. Again. This place. This endless weight. The dulled want stabbing his insides, burning, scorching through his throat, up into his mouth. Every dead cell aching. The whispered words flooding his mind, memories and phantasms and people. Some he knows. Millions he doesn't.

But then he remembers. Again.

Unforgetting. Unforgettable. Unable to forget.

The scent of her blood and the catch in her voice (You don' Jasper's desperate shame, the others pleading with him. Placating him. That this is all his own fault. He set the wheels in motion. (You think I lifted a van off of you?) He knocked the dominoes off the table. He deserves this place. This feeling.

And still the phone rings.

Date: 2010-10-06 01:47 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Mercedes)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Carlisle hates ringtones. Most of his family has some sort of chirruping noise that rumbles through their mobiles when they receive a call; Carlisle's beeps once as it vibrates.

For every number except one that he cannot miss.

He answers on the first ring of Westminster Chimes, almost veering into the opposing lane, driving home from work.


Date: 2010-10-06 02:48 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (darkened fate)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Maybe he can't speak.

Won't. No. Can't. Twelve different ways.

Carlisle pulls over the car onto the shoulder.

Please say something. Anything.

"Thank you for calling me."

It's too specific - calling me. Carlisle doesn't care to edit.

Date: 2010-10-06 03:13 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Mercedes)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
"Yes. A quiet one this year," Carlisle starts in a low ramble. "I covered a shift at a nursing home nearby for the morning."

He could give a shit less. This is whay he chooses to talk about?

What else is there that Edward wouldn't hang up for?

"I'm driving back to the house now."

Date: 2010-10-06 03:23 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (oceans and streams)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Carlisle's nodding even though Edward can't see that, or possibly know what he might be doing unless he tells.

"I will, Edward."

And there's nothing. No volunteering of information from either side.

Carlisle doesn't know how to fire the first shot.

Date: 2010-10-06 04:21 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
What can he ask?

Where are you? No. When are you coming ba--? Obviously not.

"I was asked to participate in writing this medical textbook. Maybe I will, but I think they might be concerned when I hand in my chapters written out by hand."

Carlisle has a habit of breaking keyboards when he is thinking too hard.

Date: 2010-10-06 04:29 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (ascots)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
The response shouldn't feel like a victory.

"If I liked any of them."

Date: 2010-10-06 04:53 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (With Intent)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily

Come home.

Date: 2010-10-06 05:32 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (family crest)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily

"I'm afraid to talk to you. I don't want you to hang up, because I know."

I know you won't pick up if I call back.

There's a thunk - Carlisle is smacking his forehead on his steering wheel a couple of times.

Date: 2010-10-07 01:04 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
"The whole house has smelled of gingerbread for at least a week; Esme insists that my office is severely deprived of cookies."

It's offered with fondness, but not as much as there should be - if Edward thought about it, he could probably guess why. Or the last time that happened.

"Alice and Jasper are back from France. She keeps trying to get me to go to Manhattan."

Date: 2010-10-07 02:03 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
No. It isn't. It isn't...good. Nothing is.

Please come home.

Carlisle tells of Rosalie and Emmett a little as well. It's small talk.

He mentions nothing of himself again.

Please come home.

Date: 2010-10-07 03:00 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
And on another continent, Carlisle sits behind tinted windows in a tinted Mercedes, sticking out on the side of the road as much as his conventions try to help him blend in.

"Merry Christmas, my Edward."

I love you.

"Come home."

Date: 2010-10-07 03:49 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Call him again?

See him again?


About life?

Carlisle is scared again, and he stares up at the (S)tars visible in the sky.

And, through all of it, Carlisle is pissed off. Pissed that his hands are tied - and Edward put them there.

Pissed off that he cares for the both of them.

"We aren't enough."

Date: 2010-10-07 05:23 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
"I won't lie to them. They're too important to the both of us, my Edward."

The voice on the other end of the line is cutting a little ragged, almost older than his years.

"But I will tell them that you thought of them."

Date: 2010-10-11 02:22 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (darkened fate)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Disconnected. That is what the cell phone screen says.

It just ended, like a million other little things. As if they create their own endings, since their lives keep going on and on and onward.

Carlisle sits by the side of the road for another good twenty minutes, staring at the night sky through his windshield and seeing absolutely nothing at all.

Date: 2010-10-11 02:42 pm (UTC)
bright_daughter: (Child of the Future)
From: [personal profile] bright_daughter
She's there when they turn -- one in a darkness, the other in threat -- sitting on the window ledge, shuffling her cards over the white bag they stay in. The palest shape of a form, traced as thought from the flickering of a candle flame. But his eyes would be too good for that comparison. Their kind's. Her light, even banked, even faint, is too true, too pure, for that simplicity. And her eyes settled, silver-blue, truest deepest light on the black ones beneath her.

There is no darkness she is not part of.

And she owns no fear in any part of her being.

And whether Star is there as Carlisle's Hope, or Edward's Promise, or a making of her own means, is not shown in this sudden solidity of appearance. Only the steady flip, flip, shuffle, flip of the cards in her hands in the silence of the shack -- the house of Ruin.
Edited Date: 2010-10-11 02:50 pm (UTC)


themidnightson: (Default)

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