A Jasper Hale Love Story

I remember.

I remember my human life, my vampire life, and the one connection between them. Because my human life came first, that story comes first, even though I recall so little. I suppose my childhood was reasonably happy. But it was made especially so by my best friend Jasper. He was a few years older than me, but when we were together, age was just a number. He visited me in secret because our parents would never approve. In Houston, Texas (where we lived) in those times (the mid-1800s), class was very important. Jasper and I were of different society classes, so the adults would never have let us be friends. But still he came. Our friendship started when I was just five. I barely remember our first meeting. Maybe a flicker of his smile remains. That smile enchanted me for eight beautiful years. We certainly started as nothing but friends, but as the years passed... I felt something more. While I was never sure of his feelings for me, I always got the impression he knew mine. Jasper had a special way of cheering me up. It was like when he was around, a cloud of happiness settled over me.

But it was not to last. When I was thirteen and Jasper almost seventeen, he gave me some bad news. He was joining the new Confederate Army. He wanted so badly to serve Texas that even I could not dissuade him. But I knew it wasn't goodbye forever. He would come back, and life would come back to normal. Jasper promised to send me letters, as many as I liked. I loved to write, and still do. I promised to send letters back. So this went on for two and a half years. Jasper and I kept up our secret correspondence via letters, but I was sad. I never went to our secret meeting places anymore. The memory ghosts lingering were just too sad to bear. Instead, I immersed myself in my actual life for the first time. The only thing that kept me going was that I knew Jasper would come back. Every day I kept my ears open for news, and lived for his weekly letters. And so my life was on hold, waiting in hope.

When I was fifteen, Jasper didn't send a letter. I sent a letter asking what had happened, thinking he had been busy. His last letter said he had been promoted to Major, so I figured he had lots of work to do. But he didn't reply to that either. Weeks passed. I was nearing a state of panic when an official-looking letter arrived in the mail. My mother got to it before I did. "What does it say?" I asked, hoping it said Jasper was home. My mother frowned. "It must be for someone else. It says that some soldier called Jasper Whitlock is missing in action, or something. We don't know him." She threw the letter in the trash. Later that night, I rescued the letter and its horrible, terrible, unbelievable news. It took several tries to read the letter before I could decipher it. But eventually, the message was clear: Jasper was missing, presumed dead. My world crumbled around me. Jasper was gone. Life was meaningless. The one thing I lived for was gone forever. Suddenly, a jolt of hate spread through me. Hate for the soldiers that had destroyed my Jasper, without knowing or caring who he was, or what his thoughts were, or what was waiting for him. Just another death. Nothing. And I hated whatever had made Jasper enlist in the army that brought him to his death. I cried myself to sleep, with the letter in my arms.

That morning, I realised something. Jasper was the only one keeping me tied to my life here. Now that tie was snapped, so I was free. Free to go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. It was getting worse at home anyway. I had just turned sixteen, and suitors were beginning to pursue me. I suppose I was beautiful, with long shiny black hair, wide blue eyes and my porcelain complexion. Many rich men desired me, but I knew who I wanted. I also knew he was all I would ever want. If I ran away, no man would bother me again. I left that day, without looking back. But not before I cut my hair. All of those black tresses would be annoying and useless if I was to be a runaway. Besides, I always wanted a shorter haircut. I chopped my hair until it was a nice shoulder-length cut. It suited me so well! That was the day I left my life behind.

I drifted south for a few years. Before I knew it, I was in Mexico. The vampire wars were raging there, not that I noticed. That came later. Looking back, I'm surprised I survived for so long. But they got to me eventually. I was eighteen, and had lost all interest in life. I was just wandering. On what would have been Jasper's twenty-second birthday, I found myself on a dark, deserted street. Well, I thought it was deserted at the time. At one point, I turned around to find someone who had not been there before. For just a split second, an instant, I thought that maybe... just maybe... Jasper had returned to me. But I was wrong.

The young man that faced me was a complete stranger. He looked Mexican, but he was a chalky pale, even whiter than me. Even more strange, his eyes were a deep, rich red. Even though he was so beautiful, and his smile seemed to be without threat, my instincts were shocked. I was faced with a powerful desire to run. Run far, far away and never come back. I overpowered my obviously incorrect instincts and stood facing the mysterious boy. He approached me with a strange kind of anticipation in his blood-scarlet eyes. I found my voice. "Who are you?" I asked. "Why are you here?" He smiled again, humour twisting his features. "I hope you survive. You seem very useful." He said softly. While I struggled to understand this, he closed the distance between us at a speed that no human should ever be able to achieve. That was when it cleared. He meant to kill me. Usually that would bother me, but my life was so empty... I closed my eyes and waited for the end. I felt something sharp pierce my throat, and knew that was it. I patiently awaited death, but death never came. Instead, came fire. Burning, ripping, tearing fire that scorched my cells. Why wasn't it killing me? How much did I have to endure until it was over?