𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄., rosalie hale

𝖛𝖎. a little too much thought

CHAPTER SIX !
( i. a little too much thought )

AFTER DEATH, once the body is laid to rest, buried beneath the earth, it becomes much easier to peel the deceased's characteristics from the bone. Whenever his grandfather died, Zachary was just a little boy, but he remembers the distance from which his living family placed arms length between his corpse and themselves as they placed bitter labels–callous, cold, selfish. Zachary never heard them say any foul word of the senile, old man until then, until Terrance Todd was dead and gone. Part of him wondered if the same would be said for his father, because Zachary had never thought his grandfather was all too bad until then either, and a bitter piece of him wishes that they would. Perhaps if a dozen neighbors and family friends weaseled like termites from rotten woodwork and slated the man Andrew became it would hurt a little less but they didn't, folks praised the headstones titles and added a million more–loving husband, doting father, loyal friend.

Uncle Charlie advised that Bella take some time from classes as Zachary did, perhaps not as much time but a handful of days. His cousin didn't much understand why, since Bella hardly knew Andrew Todd or Waylon Forge but it was important to her grieving father that she try to support Zachary. Silent had been most of their days, Zachary's bedroom hollow with the boy staring emptily from his window whilst Bella tried to busy herself though she squirmed in place most hours. Zachary would usually murmur for her to leave, to attend school should she desire, from a compassionate place beneath his ribs but he hasn't found much desire to speak at all. It's as if his tongue has turned to lead, heavy in his mouth and there's a coppery taste on the buds where Zachary has bitten too hard on the inside of his cheek in anxious thought.

His thoughts. They returned, eventually. In fact within the first hour after the funeral, the world seemed to continue to spin on its axis even though Zachary didn't find it very fair at all. Every reflection is sluggish, like a train chugging on unoiled tracks and its wheels are squealing horribly but Zachary thinks. A little too much. After much debate cemented on his father, and the way in which he and Waylon met their untimely demise on the bobbing deck of his godfather's fishing boat. He came to the conclusion, on the first night, that the monsters that tore the men to shreds were cold ones–made of stone, with an insatiable hunger. On the second night, Zachary fixated on the killer. He had spent the entire day before it pondering whether the pair had even left the dock, whether their deaths had been swift or torturous which is what led Zachary to responsibility.

It's the fourth night, and Zachary is almost certain in his conclusion. It's as if the world is returning to focus, the haze clearing even if only slightly since the edges of his vision are bleached by a hue of something angry. Trimmed nails tap, typing quickly before a sigh slips from Bella's lips and she is erasing what Zachary can only assume is an entire paragraph of her essay. Zachary pulls his eyes to her, and his hand rubs across his dry mouth whenever he clears his throat, dislodging the lump there with a hard swallow as his cousin's eyes jerk toward him in surprise. Bella adjusts at Zachary's desk, sliding her ankle underneath her bent knee as she watches him softly but before she can murmur anything of an awkward variation, Zachary is blurting croakily, "You know what they are?" His tone is hostile, but not for the girl in front of him. His grief has warped his logic, Zachary doesn't take the bits of information he already has about the strange family–the part where they have a treaty to ensure the safety of Forks, or the part where they attend High School so clearly they can control their avid bloodlust–instead, Zachary is overwhelmed by the fact that they're the predator that slaughtered his father and godfather.