Edward was startled awake by the sound of his name being spoken.
He had no idea how long he had slept on the settee. The twilight's faint light shone in through the gap in the window boards, casting dark, long marks on the floor in the shadows. He could feel the same tension in his shoulder, the ache that now felt old like an old friend.
But it wasn't the pain in his shoulder that took his breath away.
It was the voice.
He froze where he was standing.
Not Kyle's voice. Not a voice.
His.
Coming from across the room.
He spun around, his heart beating too hard, blood rushing in his ears.
There, in the darkness, motionless and still by the window—a reflection.
It was him.
But it was not. Not quite.
This version of him smiled with its face stretched wide across its features, too wide—unnaturally so. Its teeth were too white, too sharp, as if they didn't belong to it. Its eyes… its eyes were too bright. The shadows that had clung to them had receded, and a raw, burning white light took their place.
Edward's heart thudded in his throat. He blinked, and the figure would not disappear.
It hung there, smiling at him with stretched lips. And then it spoke.
"Edward." The voice echoed in the room, layered—one voice blending into another, cracking, piling as if it were a dozen voices and each was fighting to come through.
"You know it's all right."
The words did not drop from its mouth. They seemed to ooze from the air that filled him, from the walls, from inside his own head.
"You're changing already, can't you feel it?"
Edward stepped back, his heart thudding against the rib cage as if it would explode. His mouth was dry cotton, his throat dusty.
"Let go."
The other him took one step forward, never altering that smile. His smile, yes—but deformed. Corrupted. A mirror image, yes—but something more. Something evil.
"You've felt it, haven't you? The heat beneath the skin. The pressure inside your bones. The itch that can't be scratched." The voices wrapped around him, soft and coaxing. "You don't need to fight it. You're stronger now."
"No," Edward said, his voice hoarse. He took another step back, trying to control the frantic beating of his heart. "No, I—"
"The infection's already inside. It's too late to resist. But why would you?"
He had to scream, but the sounds would not emerge. His throat was closing on itself, closing around him.
The reflection stepped nearer. It tilted its head to one side, still smiling, eyes ablaze with that unholy, fiery white light.
"Think of it, Edward." The voice was softer now, barely more than a whisper, but still appeared to be enveloping him. "Think of the power. The strength. The freedom in the change."
Edward's hands trembled. The air was thick with a thousand whispers, and each whisper was to him, calling for him to let go, to fall. The ground beneath his feet was unstable, as if floating to the rhythm of the thrum of his own heartbeat.
No more pain. No more weakness. No more fear." The voice was compelling, hypnotic. "Just power. Power over yourself. Over the world. You can be one of us, Edward. You were always going to be one of us.".
Edward's chest tightened, his head spinning. The room was too tiny, walls closing in around him. The figure's grin expanded, teeth impossibly long now, extending past what was possible. The eyes—those vile eyes—burned with light so intense.
And then it spoke for the last time, all of the voices coalescing into one, shrieking cry.
"Join us, Edward! Accept it—accept the darkness!
Edward was unable to do anything other than freeze in horror as the creature jumped towards him, jaws open, impossibly wide, gaping wide enough to swallow him whole.
The shriek—pure and shrill—screamed through his thoughts.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.
The man vanished, a burst of static, and all that he had left was the echo in his head and the tugging thud of his own heart in his chest.
Edward's muscles tightened, his skin crawling.
He glanced around. Everything was the same. Everything was always as it would have been.
Except.
He was not alone.
He could feel it. Something in the corner. Behind the walls. A pressure on him. A presence. He couldn't see it, couldn't hear it—but it was there, waiting.
He didn't even have the nerve to move.
Didn't even have the nerve to blink.
He just stood there, trying to tell himself it was over.
It had to be.
And then, so very softly, at the edge of his mind, the voice returned.
"With us, Edward. That is inevitable."