"Decades later, I developed a friendship with a newborn who'd remained useful and survived his first three years, against the odds. His name was Peter. I liked Peter; he was . . . civilized-I suppose that's the right word. He didn't enjoy the fight, though he was good at it.
"He was assigned to deal with the newborns-babysit them, you could say. It was a full-time job.
"And then it was time to purge again. The newborns were outgrowing their strength; they were due to be replaced. Peter was supposed to help me dispose of them. We took them aside individually, you see, one by one . . . It was always a very long night. This time, he tried to convince me that a few had potential, but Maria had instructed that we get rid of them all. I told him no.
"We were about halfway through, and I could feel that it was taking a great toll on Peter. I was trying to decide whether or not I should send him away and finish up myself as I called out the next victim. To my surprise, he was suddenly angry, furious. I braced for whatever his mood might foreshadow-he was a good fighter, but he was never a match for me.
"The newborn I'd summoned was a female, just past her year mark. Her name was Charlotte. His feelings changed when she came into view; they gave him away. He yelled for her to run, and he bolted after her. I could have pursued them, but I didn't. I felt . . . averse to destroying him.
"Maria was irritated with me for that . . .
"Five years later, Peter snuck back for me. He picked a good day to arrive.
"Maria was mystified by my ever-deteriorating frame of mind. She'd never felt a moment's depression, and I wondered why I was different. I began to notice a change in her emotions when she was near me-sometimes there was fear . . . and malice-the same feelings that had given me advance warning when Nettie and Lucy struck. I was preparing myself to destroy my only ally, the core of my existence, when Peter returned.
"Peter told me about his new life with Charlotte, told me about options I'd never dreamed I had. In five years, they'd never had a fight, though they'd met many others in the north. Others who could co-exist without the constant mayhem.
"In one conversation, he had me convinced. I was ready to go, and somewhat relieved I wouldn't have to kill Maria. I'd been her companion for as many years as Carlisle and Edward have been together, yet the bond between us was nowhere near as strong. When you live for the fight, for the blood, the relationships you form are tenuous and easily broken. I walked away without a backward glance.
"I traveled with Peter and Charlotte for a few years, getting the feel of this new, more peaceful world. But the depression didn't fade. I didn't understand what was wrong with me, until Peter noticed that it was always worse after I'd hunted.
"I contemplated that. In so many years of slaughter and carnage, I'd lost nearly all of my humanity. I was undeniably a nightmare, a monster of the grisliest kind. Yet each time I found another human victim, I would feel a faint prick of remembrance for that other life. Watching their eyes widen in wonder at my beauty, I could see Maria and the others in my head, what they had looked like to me the last night that I was Jasper Whitlock. It was stronger for me-this borrowed memory-than it was for anyone else, because I could feel everything my prey was feeling. And I lived their emotions as I killed them.
"You've experienced the way I can manipulate the emotions around myself, Bella, but I wonder if you realize how the feelings in a room affect me. I live every day in a climate of emotion. For the first century of my life, I lived in a world of bloodthirsty vengeance. Hate was my constant companion. It eased some when I left Maria, but I still had to feel the horror and fear of my prey.
"It began to be too much.
"The depression got worse, and I wandered away from Peter and Charlotte. Civilized as they were, they didn't feel the same aversion I was beginning to feel. They only wanted peace from the fight. I was so wearied by killing-killing anyone, even mere humans.
"Yet I had to keep killing. What choice did I have? I tried to kill less often, but I would get too thirsty and I would give in. After a century of instant gratification, I found self-discipline . . . challenging. I still haven't perfected that."
Jasper was lost in the story, as was I. It surprised me when his desolate expression smoothed into a peaceful smile.
"I was in Philadelphia. There was a storm, and I was out during the day-something I was not completely comfortable with yet. I knew standing in the rain would attract attention, so I ducked into a little half-empty diner. My eyes were dark enough that no one would notice them, though this meant I was thirsty, and that worried me a little.
"She was there-expecting me, naturally." He chuckled once. "She hopped down from the high stool at the counter as soon as I walked in and came directly toward me.