-:-

As we drove down the lodge's drive in Angela's car, the rusty old Camaro that I'd once backed into with my truck, my phone rang; it was Renée. I shifted uncomfortably, silencing the call. I figured Charlie might have heard about Mr. Miller from one of his Forks friends—or probably Billy if word had gotten to First Beach—and they wanted to check on us. Wanting to postpone the 'come home now' speech, I figured I'd give them a call after the memorial; not to mention I wasn't sure if we'd be leaving on time anymore since Edward was ill and that was a conversation I didn't feel like arguing about at the moment.

"Everything okay?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, just delaying the inevitable," I said.

I turned to the window and watched the glare of streetlights pass by, and as the car slowed, I was met with a sight I never wanted to see. We were at Fern Hill Street, where a large rectangle of yellow caution tape encircled a part of the road: a glaring warning rippling in the wind.

"Oh God," I whispered.

That was where he died.

I quickly looked away, even though it was too dark to see a mess of blood. But then, there wouldn't be blood, would there? Not after what Tom had recalled—a practically bloodless body.

Just some kind of animal.

But still, nothing was comforting about a loose, bloodthirsty animal that clawed out peoples' eyes, even if natural animal instinct was a step above the option that Mr. Miller's death had been someone's choice. I couldn't stop that idea of murder growing in my mind, even though Edward had grown quiet in his insistence.

Angela's hand suddenly clasped mine and I bit my tongue, feeling tears start to fall. So much for keeping composure; we weren't even out of the car yet.

"I'm not used to this," I admitted, brushing under my eyes. "Renée's parents have never been around and Charlie's died in a car crash when I was young, too young to know what was happening. I've never had a kind of loss that's… close, you know?"

"I don't think it's the kind of thing that gets easier with experience," she said softly. "I used to think it was cheesy when my dad would tell me to count my blessings, but… I get it now. Especially when you're happy. You forget that terrible things happen."

Nodding, I blinked away the sting in my eyes. "Yeah."

I squeezed her hand and didn't let go until she turned into the funeral home's drive. She circled a row of cars and curved to the left, but I pointed before she could go farther.

"Wait," I told her, leaning to the window, puzzled. "There's my truck."

It was sitting at the far end of the parking lot, visible in the dimly lit space only by its bright red-orange paint, and I stared as Angela pulled closer and parked next to it. I hopped out of the car and rounded to the rear to check the license plate just in case I'd found its twin somehow, but sure enough, it was my tag number.

"Edward said he left it at a service shop. I don't know how it could have gotten here."

"That would be because of me."

Angela and I jumped, startled, and turned to the unfamiliar voice behind us. As though she materialized out of thin air, a blonde girl was standing a few feet away. With one look at her radiant clothes and shockingly lovely face, I realized who she was, but Angela beat me to saying it aloud.

"Rosalie. You brought her truck here?"

Rosalie Cullen, Alice's sister. I'd only seen her from a distance, the very same day that I met Alice, but she hadn't been forgettable. She certainly looked the same, from her pretty golden hair to the tight, discerning expression on her face.

"We haven't met," she said to me, ignoring Angela. She didn't speak warmly, nor did she offer me her hand to shake.

"I guess we haven't," I answered, shooting Angela a quick look. This was uncomfortable, to say the least. I held out my hand anyway. "I'm Bella. Charlie—"

"Swan's daughter," she finished, crossing her arms. "It's a small town."

Jesus, Goldilocks. Someone piss in your porridge?

I lowered my hand. "How did you get my truck?"

"I work at B & P," she said, studying me with a cautious eye. "Edward, like you just said, left it with me. And since you didn't pick it up today like you were supposed to, I drove it here."

I almost told her that was nice of her. I thought better of it and said dully, "I guess you're here for Mr. Miller's viewing?"

She looked at me like I was the dumbest person alive. "Clearly."

"Well, so am I, and he was a good friend, so how about you cut me some slack considering the last thing on my mind has been my truck?"

She took my remark with a pinched look on her face and replied, "I replaced the heater core and carburetor, cleaned the internal structure, tightened the oil valve, changed your oil, replaced your filters, and buffed the engine." As a side note, she added, "You really should take better care of your car."

I supposed, in life, sometimes I was just going to meet people who I wished I could smack.

"It's old."

"Is it?"

Was she taunting me? "Older than all of us," I said.

She barked a laugh and pulled something out of her coat pocket. "Here are your keys. You shouldn't have any other problems."

I took them, wishing my bumper would suddenly fall off to take the swell off her cockiness. "How do you want to do this?" I said, fishing in my purse. "Can you take my credit card info here or would you rather me come by tomorrow?"

"There's no need. Edward took care of it upfront."

"Oh." Well, it wasn't like that was a big surprise. But then, as if I had done something to offend her, she glared at me with steely, dark eyes that were as cold and grim as a grave—a look that was made to slice through me.

"Did you forgive him?"

Confused, I looked at Angela, but then I remembered—Edward had taken my truck to the repair shop the morning after our fight. I was stunned silent for a few moments before asking, "What did he tell you?"

"Enough," she said simply.

I shifted uneasily, a pebble of anger in my stomach. I guess she thought she knew the whole story. "Yes, we're fine now, " I answered, swallowing a bitter tone. It wasn't any of her business.

"Good," she said, not bothering to hide her frostiness, adding under her breath, "It was the least you could do."

I felt the hair rise on my neck, suddenly fuming and defensive. "Don't act like you know anything about us. And you know, it was the least you could have done to offer him a ride back instead of just sending him to walk in the freezing cold."

"He wouldn't let me drive him back," she said, her eyes stern. "He said he wanted to walk. That he had something important to do, alone."

He would say that, damn him. Damn her, too. Swallowing my anger, I waited a few moments and managed to say instead of growling, "Well, thank you for bringing it by."

She nodded curtly and briskly walked toward the funeral home without another word. I half expected the same kind of clomping, self-righteous footsteps that Jessica walked with, but hers barely make a sound. Before I could comment, Angela whispered, "Man, that was weird."

I frowned. "Is she always like that?"

Ang shrugged. "Pretty much. She's got the cold personality of the family, I guess. The rest of them are really friendly. Even Jasper, her brother, doesn't talk much, but he's polite at least. He always looks uncomfortable though. Kind of like he needs to take a shit."

Normally I would have laughed, but something was bothering me as I watched Rosalie's golden hair bounce softly on her shoulders as she reached the white double doors. There was a tall, burly guy waiting for her, and he put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her inside—but not before sending a quick look our way.

"Was that him?"

"No. That was Emmett Cullen. Her boyfriend."

Puzzled, I asked, "Didn't you say they're all adopted? Siblings, kind of?"

"You know, there came a point when I stopped asking questions because it got too confusing," she said, straightening her purse on her shoulder. "Alice and Emmett are a niece and nephew and the twins are adopted. And Alice is with Jasper and Rosalie with Emmett—it's strange, but since they're not blood-related… I guess weirder things have happened."

"Not blood-related," I repeated. "It's even stranger, then, how similar they look, isn't it? The same complexion, same eyes… Wait, that's what it was."

Angela looked up. "Hmm?"

"Her eyes. Didn't you say the whole family had those golden-colored eyes? Because hers looked dark."

She frowned. "Yeah, I saw. Dr. Cullen's do that, too, sometimes. Solar lenses, maybe, or whatever they are." At the bewildered expression on my face, she added, "Like I said, I stopped asking questions. They're just different… in a few ways."

"I could barely see her pupils," I said, hunching my shoulders at a sudden gust of wind.

There was something about that family that was growing increasingly unnerving. I should have expected them to be here because of Mr. Miller's history with Dr. Cullen, but with the knowledge of the odd phone call between the two of them and all of the little oddities that kept popping up, I was starting to want to avoid them instead of get answers.

"Should we go in?" Ang suggested.

I nodded, reluctant. We walked across the parking lot, the pair of heels I'd borrowed from Angela crunchily scraping the asphalt—my stomach felt like it sounded, full of gravelly discomfort.

Inside the funeral home, we were met by a burst of cool air that made my skin prickle with goosebumps. A low bustle of footsteps and hushed voices filled the entrance—a grand room with rich red carpet, which diverted to two hallways lined with generic floral artwork. Groups of people stretched down the hallway to our right as if waiting in line, but most were simply talking in clusters. The left hall was abandoned, so I supposed there weren't any other services tonight.

Angela and I slipped through the crowd to the viewing room and I deliberately kept my eyes away from the faraway wall, where I briefly saw a flash of a closed casket. I wasn't near ready to approach it, and thinking about it, I was surprised at how quickly this had been arranged. It was morbid to think about, but maybe his death hadn't been suspicious enough if his body wasn't being held for analysis; if anything had tied in with the other murders, it would have taken more time to investigate everything, right?

Maybe that would put Edward's mind at ease a bit. Though, usually, a funeral was the day after the viewing or memorial, and all at once, it all felt too fast. Maybe they were trying to hide something. Or maybe he wasn't even in there.

I rubbed my forehead. This was not the time to start thinking about conspiracies. It was the stress and grief of it all getting to me. I still didn't know how to begin to say goodbye to someone who was ripped away so suddenly, and it was making my head spin.

Flowers sat tall in every corner and I felt a pang of guilt in my stomach for not thinking to send any. We signed a guestbook and took a couple of the little memorial cards with Mr. Miller's picture, and I swallowed a lump in my throat as I tucked them into my purse, thinking that this was the only time I would see him now—frozen in a photo.

We spotted Doris, dressed in a dark blue dress suit, standing with some men by a tiered stand of carnations. She smiled when she saw us, but her eyes grew bright with tears as we approached. She embraced each of us and tearfully introduced me to her sons, and I felt dazed as I shook their hands and answered their questions about how Edward was. I'd forgotten that he'd spent a few hours with them just a couple of days prior—it seemed like weeks ago.

Looking around as everyone quietly chatted, I recognized a few other familiar faces—some from the lodge and others from around town. Some were softly crying and sniffling while others stood somberly, but I didn't miss the ones who were whispering with wide eyes, drawing in their neighbors with a wave of their hand, no doubt recounting the bizarre account of how Mr. Miller had died. I could see the gossip fresh in their eyes and it made me feel sick.

There were quite a few children, too, ranging from all ages from teenagers to younger ones—Mr. Miller's grandchildren, most likely—but one little girl in a black, sparkly skirt with dark brown spiral curls kept catching my eye; while most people were standing still, she was skipping. I felt a small ounce of envy at her innocence, too young to be terribly upset by death or fully understand what was happening in this room—she couldn't have been more than four or five.

Angela and I stood with everyone and made small talk for a while, and I learned the funeral was going to be held the day after Thanksgiving, not tomorrow as I'd assumed. Of course, then I was thinking about that—it was none of my business if the family wanted to wait, but it got me wondering if the police were asking them to hold off because they needed more time to check Mr. Miller's body for evidence. And then the heartrending thought that I wouldn't be here for his funeral. And neither would Edward; that was going to devastate him. That was if he was even well enough to travel when the time came.

I excused myself to the restroom for a minute, and on my way back in, before making my way over to Angela, I moved closer to a table with an array of framed photos. Half of them were black and white or sepia—older photos of Mr. Miller and a few others he had posed with. One captured him when he was younger—maybe forty or so—holding up a large fish on a boat, beaming, signs of joy in the crows-feet wrinkles around his eyes. Another showed him when he was a boy, with his arms around an English Sheepdog. Then my eyes fell upon a wedding photo where he stood as a handsome young man with a girl around my age—Anna. She was beautiful, with soft curls cascading over her shoulders and a spark of happiness in her eyes that reminded me of how Mr. Miller looked whenever he talked about her. I recognized her in other photos as well as they aged, both of them seeming very much in love over the years.

I felt myself tearing up again, torn between heartbreak and hope that they had found each other again.

Suddenly, the table jerked and the frames rattled a bit as I quickly tried to steady them. I turned to see that the little girl who had been skipping had just bumped into the side.

"Sorry," she said in a sweet voice, not shy at all, and pointed to the pictures. "That's my Grandpa."

"Oh," I said, giving her a small smile. "I see."

"He's in Heaven now."

I paused, feeling my throat tighten, unsure of what to say to someone so young. "Yes, he is. He was a very nice man." Tears filled my eyes to the brim of my eyelashes, and I looked away, not wanting to start crying in front of a little kid.

"What's your name?" she asked, reaching out to touch the jacket I was wearing. "I like your shiny buttons."

I took a deep breath to collect myself and smiled through my tears. "Thank you. I like your headband." She grinned and touched the silver flower that adorned her hairband, and I added, "My name's Bella. What's your name?"

"Adrienne. Want to see my good luck charm?"

"Sure," I said, kneeling and feeling my heart warm a bit. Adrienne. Mr. Miller had talked about his youngest granddaughter so often and fondly; I felt like I already knew her. Now that I heard her name, I recalled seeing her in a few pictures Mr. Miller had shown me when we first met. She was adorable, and I smiled when I realized she had inherited his bright hazel eyes.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and black. A chess piece: a queen.

It took me a moment to respond, swallowing thickly, my breath feeling stuck in my lungs. "That must be special."

She nodded. "Grandpa gave it to me."

I tried not to let my discomfort show on my face. "Did he give it to you yesterday?"

"Yeah!" she said, brightening. "How did you know?"

I swallowed, ignoring the sting in my eyes and the knot in my chest. "Because he gave me one of his pieces, too," I confessed quietly.

"Oh," she said, seeming unfazed. "He said to always remember I was his little queen." She cradled the little piece in her hands, admiring it, before looking up at me. "What did he tell you to remember?"

At that moment, a woman with long, blond hair walked over and said, "Adrienne, honey, what are you doing?" She had red-rimmed, swollen eyes and gave me a tired smile that broke my heart. She was Adrienne's mother, most likely—if my memory served me correctly, that would be Mr. Miller's youngest daughter, Susan. "I'm sorry if she's bothering you."

"No," I said quickly as she took the little girl's hand. "Not at all. She's very sweet. I…" I swallowed, feeling my cheeks go pink. "I'm so sorry... for your loss."

The words were terribly insignificant—Mr. Miller was so much more than a loss, and a simple sorry wasn't enough. His death was devastating, untimely, and horrible, and it was immensely unfair that the world had to be without him.

"Oh," she said, straightening up, sniffling. "Thank you. We're all very shocked. I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"She's Bella, Mommy," Adrienne spoke up, swinging her mother's hand back and forth.

"Bella," she repeated softly, recognition dawning in her eyes. "From the lodge? Oh, sweetheart. He spoke of you so fondly."

Stunned, I quickly wiped at a tear that was starting to fall and could barely get the words out, "I was fond of him, too. He was wonderful."

Seeing me cry, her brave face faltered as she took a shaky breath, nodding. "Thank you so much for coming."

I nodded, too, and she took Adrienne's hand and led her away; I watched them go, keeping my eyes on the little girl's fist, where she held the little black chess piece. So I wasn't the only one who had received a parting gift—and maybe mine had been intentional, seeing as I was about to go back home—but why had he given away one to his granddaughter, someone who he would see so many more times to come? Plus, telling her to remember she was his little queen? The timing of it was uncanny and unsettling.

What little Adrienne had said reverberated in my mind: What did he tell you to remember?

Could it have been possible for Edward to have been right—that Mr. Miller had known something might happen to him? That this whole situation was not a terrible accident, but something more malevolent? But if so, why? Why wouldn't he have gone to the police for help if he thought he was in danger?

I looked at the pictures again, one of the more recent ones, at his kind, careful eyes—always careful.

Were you trying to protect us? I asked him silently. What would you want me to do now?

Take care of each other, he'd said. Or warned.

Breaking me out of my troubled daze, my phone suddenly started buzzing in my purse. I quickly moved to an unoccupied corner—normally I wouldn't have answered, but in case it was Edward, I didn't want to miss a call. I flipped it open and answered quietly, "Hello?"

There was a small hum on the other end, but no voice.

"Hello?" I tried again. Nothing. I pulled the phone back and looked on the inside screen for a name. Unknown, it read.

My stomach seemed to bottom out. Generally, an unknown call wouldn't have fazed me, but I was suddenly reminded that only yesterday Edward had been receiving them nonstop—something Mr. Miller had taken care of with a cryptic but effective speech. As far as I knew, Edward hadn't been called again. Had someone moved on to me?

My voice shaky, I said, "Who is this?"

A click sounded, leaving my phone blinking 'Call Ended'.

The grave feeling that had been lying low in my stomach doubled in size, and suddenly all I wanted to do was get back to Edward and figure out a way to leave for Florida tonight. If I drove for two days straight and drugged him out on Nyquil, we could probably make it without any problems. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong, and I had absolutely no idea how to explain any of it.

I must have looked like a scared, cornered mouse, but before I could think of what to do next, Angela was at my side.

"They're asking everyone to come to the next room for a prayer service," she said, giving me a bit of a concerned look. "Do you want to go sit down?"

I swallowed, thinking that all I wanted to do was get in my truck and book it out of there, but the desire to not seem like a horribly rude crazy person was a little stronger.

"Yeah, of course," I said, tucking my phone away, and we walked to the next room.

I took a glance at the wooden casket, ornamented with flowers, as we passed. I knew Mr. Miller wasn't in there—not anymore, just his body—but I still felt a wave of fresh tears threatening to spill over at any moment. My heart was racing, too; even with the cold air blowing from the ceiling vents, I felt sweat under my arms and on the back of my neck.

As Angela and I made our way to the rows of chairs that were divided into neat rows on both sides of an identically decorated room, I stopped short when I realized Angela was heading toward the Cullen family. They were sitting in the very back row like perfectly arranged porcelain dolls, dressed in matching shades of gray and black. Angela went straight up to them, exchanging a few words with Dr. Cullen while I stayed glued to the spot until she turned back, surprised I wasn't next to her; for whatever reason, my instinct was to go to the opposite corner, but I slowly made my way to her side.

Angela sat in front of them, and though I tried keeping my eyes forward, I caught a glimpse of Alice. She gave me a small smile and raised a gloved hand in a tiny wave that I couldn't help returning. She had been so sweet and I felt guilty just looking away, but locking eyes with Dr. Cullen next sent a coldness straight to my bones. At that moment, I remembered the mysterious phone call Mr. Miller had with him just two nights ago—how they had been discussing me and Edward. Then, they'd met the morning of his death so Dr. Cullen could 'help' with something.

Dr. Cullen nodded at me, a gentle, sad expression on his face—curiously, something like regret mixed in—a look people gave when they pitied you or were sorry for something. A woman next to him, who I assumed was his wife, and equally beautiful as the rest of them, gave me the same look. I quickly glanced down the row of them, and they were all looking at me like that—except Rosalie. She was glaring.

The shakiness inside me grew, starting in my legs and fingertips and spreading inward until it reached my chest, and I sat down quickly next to Angela, trying to breathe slowly. I felt like a time bomb was in my chest; more sweat beaded at my temples and my hands grew clammy.

A minute later, someone started speaking—maybe a pastor or one of Mr. Miller's family members—but I couldn't look up. For the next ten minutes, I fought my anxiety as it ebbed and flowed, but eventually, it was coming in waves as quickly as my rapid pulse, and I pressed my knuckles to my lips, afraid I would have a full-blown panic attack right in front of the whole room.

I tried to swallow but couldn't get my throat to cooperate; all of my muscles felt like they were freezing up. My chest felt like lead. When I tried to breathe, I felt invisible hands squeeze my throat.

Ohgodohgodohgod—

And then a sudden sense of calm began to settle over me like soft-falling snow. It seemed to creep through my skin and into my veins like an abnormal sense of peace, the panic fizzling away. I pinched myself, concerned I was in the midst of passing out, but the dizziness had abated and the unseen hands on my throat had moved to my head, now holding me steady. I'd had those spells of self-anesthetic now and again when I couldn't handle pain, but this was something different. When my stomach twisted in upset, I instantly felt another wave of it—another blanket of peace, another soothing cocktail.

It was weird. This was something new that was out of my control and I didn't like it. I wrung my sweaty hands together, only to feel another fuzzy feeling of fake calm. Panic I could understand… but what was this?

"Are you okay?" Angela whispered. "You look pale."

"I just…" I ran my hands over my skirt and breathed deeply. "These things make me nervous. I feel like I'm freaking out." Even though, at the moment, I was feeling oddly composed against my will—however the hell that could be explained.

I had an overwhelming urge to cry, but that was being suppressed, too, like something was behind my eyes holding the tears at bay. Angela put her hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, but it was as if something else was holding onto me, too, relaxing me, cradling me, like a pair of warm hands at my back.

And that's when I realized it felt like this all was coming from behind me.

I whipped my head around to find a pair of dark black eyes locked with mine—the blond boy sitting next to Alice. I didn't mean to, but I felt myself give him a bitter glare, enough to make him wince. He flinched in his seat, blinking, and suddenly the strange, calming sensation was gone—like a hammer had shattered whatever wall had been put up. Alice darted her eyes from me to him, both of them watching me in unnerved curiosity.

Wheels were spinning in my head without direction. Something was wrong with this boy, with this whole family. I didn't know how, but all of what I had just felt had been coming from him. I couldn't explain it and felt like a batshit loon for even thinking it—but I knew it had. And that was enough.

I bolted from my seat, walking briskly to the side, hearing whoever was speaking pause in the middle of their speech as I hurried to get to the door. I didn't look back at Mr. Miller's casket, nor any of the pictures or flowers. I just had to get out.

One of the ushers in the hallway called out to me as I started running, "Miss? Are you alright?"

I didn't answer.

I choked through a breath as I pushed the front door open, a sob on the tip of my lips, and was hit with the chill of November air. I walked a few steps, leaned against the wall, and breathed heavy, wispy clouds of white appearing and disappearing as I tried to compose myself and my thoughts. Grief, stress, and worry mixed with the thought of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and it was like trying to fit pieces of a jagged puzzle together in a hurricane.

"Bella Swan?"

Startled, half-gasping at the sound of the gruff voice, I turned to find a police officer approaching me; I hadn't even seen the squad car that had been parked out front. My mouth agape, I answered with a breathless, "Yes?"

"Officer Rory Sullivan," he said, holding up his hand as if assure me he wasn't threatening. I must have looked like a wreck. "I spoke with you yesterday at Red Timber Lodge?"

"Oh," I answered, quickly wiping away tears. I'd been in a fog yesterday. I couldn't have picked out who I'd spoken to if my life had depended on it.

"I just have a few additional questions for you if that's okay."

I ran my hand over my eyes, my breath catching as I drew it in. "Now?"

"I understand it's a difficult time," he said, stopping at the foot of the curb, "but if you wouldn't mind accompanying me to the station, we could-"

"What?" I didn't think it was possible, but every single thought I'd just been stressing over got shoved to the side for a moment. "Why?"

The officer hesitated. "You're not in trouble, Ms. Swan. I just want to make sure we have all of the correct information."

"I told you everything that I knew yesterday," I said, feeling a new sort of panic bubble in my stomach. What I really wanted to tell him was to go inside and ask the Cullens his 'additional' questions, since for reasons unknown, I had a strange feeling they knew way more than I did.

"My questions are about your boyfriend, Edward."

My blood went cold at the sound of his name. "What about him?"

"Is he inside?" Officer Sullivan asked.

I shook my head. "No, he's back at the lodge."

"He didn't want to come today?"

I felt my words get caught in my throat, making a small, weak sound as I stared at him in disbelief. "He did want to come. He got sick. What—what are you asking me, exactly?"

Sullivan took off his hat. "Bella," he said, giving me a gentle look, though I prickled at the sound of him using my first name like we knew each other. "I used to work with your father—for three months before he left. He was a mentor of mine. The least I can do for him is make sure his daughter is safe."

I gaped at him, feeling my fists tighten and growing more unnerved by the second.

"Yesterday, as you know, we interviewed everyone. We took everyone's name; there wasn't any discrimination there. For a crime of this nature, we're going to look at every possible angle. I took a look at Edward's—"

"So it wasn't an animal attack?" I asked in a hushed voice.

He creased his eyebrows at my question.

My already unsteady heartbeat became quicker. "You said 'crime of this nature.' Animals don't commit crimes."

This cop looked young and had the markings of a rookie. I could use that. I saw him realize his mistake, and in the second I could see that he was searching for a line to backtrack, I pounced with, "Which of your supervisors sent you here to talk to me?"

"Excuse me, ma'am?" His eyebrows creased, and by his hesitant tone, I grew confident.

"You're wearing the lowest-ranking insignia," I pointed out, which might have been a little uncalled for, but I didn't care, continuing, "and you introduced yourself as Officer, which means you report to someone of a higher rank. I'd like to know who sent you to seek me out after I already gave my statement yesterday."

When he didn't answer, grappling for words, I added, "If no one gave you orders to come and talk to me again, that means you did it on your own. Against regulations, against protocol."

"Ms. Swan, I was only—"

"And I don't think your Sergeant will appreciate knowing you just gave out sensitive information to a civilian." He looked completely taken aback, and I added, "You had three months with Charlie? I've had twenty-three years."

"If it wasn't me asking, it would be someone else," he said. "Someone who doesn't care that you're the Chief's daughter. I'm trying to do you a favor with respect to your family."

"You're respecting me and my father by zeroing in on my boyfriend?"

"His file states—"

"Excuse me, but I know what his file states. And if you think he has anything to do with what happened to John Miller, you are incomprehensibly wrong." I was unbridledly pissed. "I was with him all day. We left to go on a hike that morning and didn't get back until the afternoon, and that's when we found out about Mr. Miller. I'll take whoever wants to see into the woods—there's probably evidence of our footsteps in the mud, fibers from our clothes in the area where we hid from the rain in this meadow that's out there—"

"There is no need to get defensive, Ms. Swan. I'm simply trying to piece together the timeline."

I stopped, taking a deep breath and trying to calm myself. "We told you yesterday. We said goodbye to Mr. Miller in the parking lot of the lodge and he headed down the drive to town. Edward and I went into the woods, into the trails, in the opposite direction. We were gone for at least two or three hours. And I don't know what time—" I swallowed, fresh tears brimming in my eyes. "I don't know what time Mr. Miller was killed. But Edward didn't leave my sight for one moment. He had nothing to do with it. He was with me."

He studied my face with squinty eyes and opened his mouth to speak again, but someone beat him to it.

"It's true."

Both Sullivan and I turned to look to the front door, where Alice Cullen was standing. She slowly made her way over to us, giving me a small nod as she stopped beside me, and turned her attention to the officer.

"I was hiking with Jasper yesterday, Officer Sullivan. We were in the woods, too. We saw Bella and Edward in the meadow." She turned to me, adding, "We would have said hi, but we didn't want to interrupt. Plus, we were all the way across the field."

"If you were far away, how do you know it was them?" Sullivan asked.

Alice smiled at him. "I study photography, so I had my camera. Nature walk and all. When I spotted others, I zoomed in. It was them." She gave me an abashed glance. "I kind of took some photos of you two."

I felt a natural sense of relief this time. If Alice had that proof, they would have to leave Edward alone. Though, I wondered exactly when this picture was taken; I was assuming she meant when Edward and I still had clothes on.

"And what time was this?" Sullivan asked.

Alice paused briefly. "Maybe eleven AM? Jasper and I left the woods around eleven-thirty when it started to rain. Bella and Edward were still there. Anyway, I would be happy to tell anyone who needs to know where they were yesterday. And my camera is time and date-stamped if that helps. They're telling the truth."

Alice's easy confidence and explanation seemed to throw Sullivan for a loop, but I could tell he found it difficult to dismiss what she'd said with the offer of proof and an alibi for both me and Edward. Plus, I imagined her father was somewhat of an upstanding citizen in this town as a physician, and as his daughter, her word might have some weight behind it.

I tried to seem as confident as she was as Sullivan met my eyes again, and I couldn't help thinking how stupid I was for not calling Charlie sooner; I made a mental note to do so as soon as I had the chance. He probably wouldn't like to hear I'd bitched out someone he'd mentored (never mind a member of law enforcement), but I knew he'd be proud of me for at least remembering police protocol.

The officer finally backed off, under pressure and in a literal sense as he took a few steps backward. "Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Cullen. Ms. Swan. If we have additional questions, someone will be in contact."

"Of course," she said politely, and I nodded.

Sullivan nodded back to the both of us, looking a little bit weary, and walked in the direction of his car. When he was seemingly out of earshot, Alice turned to me with a concerned gaze.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

I honestly couldn't count the times I'd cried in the past few hours, but it was about to happen again. Hot, angry tears brimmed in my eyelids and I swiped them away, feeling my anxiety weave in and out as I breathed.

"Yeah," I answered her, clearing my throat. "That was just really bad timing for him to come up to me. Thank you for sticking up for us." I paused, then asked, "Did you really see us in the woods?"

"Yes," she said, almost apologetically. "We didn't mean to intrude on your privacy. You two looked so happy and I wanted to capture the moment. And I absolutely would have stopped by to give you the photos, but then when everything happened…"

I quickly nodded, and she narrowed her eyes for a moment before taking my hands with her gloved ones. "I know things don't make sense right now. And I know how we must seem to you."

I doubted I was giving off casual vibes at the moment, but I was a little surprised at how much of my feelings she could decipher, especially about her family—even if I had glared at her strange, blond-haired boyfriend, or brother, or whoever he was.

"I don't know what to think anymore," I found myself confessing in a moment of weakness. "Everything feels—it all—" I choked back a sob, unsure why I was talking to her when minutes ago, I wanted to get as far away from the Cullens as I could. "Something is going on that involves Edward and me, isn't there? Something your family knows?"

Alice watched me with a worried expression, and I couldn't tell if her worry was due to my tears or because there was something she knew.

"If there is, it can't be good," I continued. "As bad as today is, I feel like there's something worse around the corner, and if you know something, please tell me. Should Edward and I leave?"

She shook her head and said softly, "No, you don't have to leave." And then, just as she did when Angela and I had run into her shopping, her eyes glazed over and she slightly looked off to the side, looking lost in a deep thought.

"What is it? Alice?" I squeezed her hands, growing concerned when she didn't answer after saying her name again. I looked around for someone—I wasn't sure what was happening, but I'd heard of people having seizures like this before. "Alice!"

And as quickly as she'd slipped into it, she came out of it, her eyes darting left and right.

"Are you alright?" I asked uncertainly.

Unexpectedly, she suddenly pulled me into a tight hug, stunning me silent. "Please trust me, Bella. Just go take care of Edward. We'll take care of everything else."

And with that, she squeezed my shoulders and began walking away, back to the door.

"Alice?" I called weakly, and though she looked back, she simply gave me a quick nod and went back inside. I stared after her, dumbfounded, my legs feeling as stable as Jell-o. I only had a few moments to try and collect my thoughts before Angela came outside.

"God, Bella, are you okay? I tried to come after you but Alice said—"

"It's all right. I'm okay now," I assured her. "But I don't know, Ang, I feel like I'm going a little crazy here. I think I'm going to go."

She nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Oh, no," I said, wiping my eyes. "You should stay. I don't want you to miss everything."

"I think Mr. Miller would forgive us," she said with a sad smile. "It's been an emotional day—and a long one. I told Ben I'd stop at the drugstore and get him some things. Why don't we go there together and then go take care of our boys?"

I managed a small laugh through the tears and reached to hug her, and she squeezed me tightly until we were both crying. She took my arm and turned us toward the parking lot, saying, "Let's go."

As we walked to our cars, a fancy bright blue car suddenly pealed through the parking lot and to the street, squealing its tires as it drove off.

"Who drives a sports car in this town?" I asked rhetorically, although Angela had an answer.

"That was Emmett Cullen's car, but—" she stopped, looking behind us. "He was still inside with Rosalie when I came out. I didn't see them walk past us."

I narrowed my eyes. "I guess they went out the back entrance?"

"I guess, but… why?" Angela mused, starting to walk again. "Today is weird."

I took a shaky breath. "I couldn't agree more."

My truck was waiting for me where Rosalie had left it, and Angela got into her Camero as I opened the truck's driver-side door.

The first thing I noticed was the door hadn't given a groaning creak like usual, but when the overhead light came on as I climbed in, I froze before I could even place my purse on the passenger seat.

My baby was spotless. She'd been vacuumed, dusted, buffed, and left in a pristine state. As I ran my hand along the dash as I usually did, it was as smooth as a baby's bottom and looked like it probably would have back in the eighties when she was brand-new.

When I started the engine, it gave a smooth, purring rumble instead of its usual clunky growl.

Well. Mechanic Barbie knew her shit, that was for sure.

It only took a few minutes to get to the drugstore, and we were greeted with an electronic chirp as Angela and I walked through the store's automatic doors. We took some bright red baskets and I followed her to the cold medicine aisle, where we packed the baskets full of tissues, throat lozenges, cough syrup, and some pills for fever and pain relief. I wandered to another aisle at the back to choose a few snacks and drinks, and as I passed a display of woodland stuffed animals, I decided to get Edward a little brown moose with a soft, downy outside.

Angela smiled at my choice when she came up behind me, and said, "Oh, man, you're such a good girlfriend. I should get something for Ben. What do you think of the fox? Oh my gosh, look at the beaver."

"Well, I think you've already given him plenty of bea—"

She playfully shoved me and we cracked up, quietly enough to not be obnoxious, but it was so nice to laugh and joke for a minute like normal. Our giggles were a bit melancholy as they faded, and we both breathed deeply, and I laid my head on her arm momentarily as we stood there.

"Look," I said, reaching for a stuffed hedgehog, pointing to the tiny tag that was attached to its little ear. "His name's Ben."

"Sold," Angela said, taking the fluffy animal. "Is the moose named Edward?"

I checked the tag on the moose's antler. "Bruce."

"Bruce the Moose," Angela echoed. "Edward will love him."

I smiled, then added, "Think I should get him a Harlequin romance novel, too?"

"Eh, you could always enact a scene from one later," she said as we walked to the front. "Oh. I need to grab—you know. Gifts for Aunt Flo. Go ahead and pay—I'll be right behind you."

Chuckling, I got in line and put my purchases, along with Bruce, on the counter, where a peppy teenager rang me up, and I stepped to the side to wait for Angela. As she rounded the corner, an older lady who was shopping near the checkout suddenly called her name. Phrases of "I haven't seen you for ages," and "How is your mom doing?" came after, and when Angela shot me an apologetic look, I smiled, waving that it was fine.

I waited by the doors (in a spot that wouldn't set them off to keep opening), and fished my phone out of my purse, deciding to check on Edward—even though I was about to be back in under ten minutes. Four rings went by and I almost hung up, figuring he was asleep, but before I could, there was a click and a raspy-sounding, "Hi."

"Hey," I replied, unable to keep the sympathy out of my voice. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I woke up a few minutes ago."

"I'm glad you got some sleep," I said, watching the lady talking to Angela move her hands in an animated dance. "How do you feel?"

He gave a tired-sounding exhale and coughed hoarsely, sounding awful. "Like shit. I can barely stand up."

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I'll be back soon. I'm at the drugstore with Angela… I got you a few things that will hopefully help. Any special requests?"

He sighed. "Think you can talk the pharmacist into giving you any of the good drugs?"

"As in?" I said, smiling despite his barely-there voice.

"I could go for some of that morphine they gave you at the hospital."

I gave a small laugh. "Let's see what the over-the-counter can do for you first, and if I have to, we can bribe Angela to steal a script pad from the hospital."

We were quiet for a few moments before he asked, "So, how was it? Doesn't seem like you were there too long."

"It was…" I paused, rubbing my forehead. "It was sad. Kind of strange to imagine him there but not there, you know?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

I frowned, internally kicking myself. He knew much better than I did. "But it was nice to see some pictures from when he was young," I continued. "I met one of his daughters and little granddaughter. Adrienne—remember him talking about her?"

Edward was silent for a moment, but then said, "Yeah. She was very special to him."

I almost told him about the queen chess piece but thought better of it. Maybe later, when he was feeling better.

"I should have gone," he said in the same low voice.

"I bet Mr. Miller would have told you to stay in bed and not put up a fuss," I said, also deciding now wasn't the best time to tell him about the funeral's date either, so I changed the subject. "Oh, guess what? That mechanic gave me back my truck. She drove it to the funeral home."

"Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "I forgot about that. That was nice of her."

"Yeah," I replied, thinking nice was a bit of a stretch when it came to Rosalie Cullen from what I had experienced, but I couldn't deny that it had been a friendly gesture. "She uh, wanted to know if I had forgiven you. Spilling all our secrets to the Forks townsfolk, huh?" I teased.

Edward half-laughed, half-coughed, and said, "Oh, geez. I was a mess when I was at that shop. I crumbled under the pressure. I told her she should be a lawyer with the way she got me to talk."

"Are you sure it was her smooth-talking skills?" I joked. "Or the fact that she's stunningly gorgeous?"

When he didn't answer, I chuckled. "I'm just teasing. Though, I swear, that whole family is a bit breathtaking. It's almost overwhelming." Scary, too, but I wasn't ready to go there yet. Noticing he still hadn't responded, I said "Are you there?"

Nothing.

I checked to see if the call had cut out, but the seconds were still going. "Edward?"

A noise I couldn't identify sounded, and when he finally answered, he said, "Bella. I'm seeing things."

Seeing things?

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling my heart pick up.

"There's a girl at the window."

I stiffened, not comprehending. "The window?"

It was impossible. He was on the fourth floor.

"She's just… staring at me."

Oh, God. He was delirious.

"Um, Edward," I said as I started to walk toward Angela, "you should sit down. Or lay down. Just close your eyes. I'll be there in—"

"She's coming inside."

I froze in place. "What?"

I heard him take a breath, and then a thump.

"Who—who…" I heard him say, followed by a startling crash, and then silence.

The call had ended.

I felt the blood drain from my face and I broke out in a sweat, instantly feeling a wave of dizziness. I didn't even think, or call out to Angela.

I just ran.

Outside, I threw my bag into my truck and tried to start the engine while calling him back. "Answer," I pleaded to the electronic ring. "Come on, Edward. Pick up."

He didn't.

I sped back to the lodge in just six minutes, screeching into the parking lot and pulling into the closest parking spot, and left everything, only taking my keys and phone. The lobby was empty; everyone was at the memorial service, so I had no one to ask for help. I ran as fast as could, ignoring my pounding heart and the burn in my legs from the climb, silently pleading to find him unharmed and not like—

I couldn't think of it.

I burst into his room in a wild panic. He wasn't in sight— the bed was empty and I spotted his cell phone on the floor by the wall. His bathroom door was open; the shower was running. "Edward!" I yelled in alarm, afraid of what I was going to find.

One of the sliding shower doors was open and he was inside, sitting against the wall, still wearing his clothes and drenched under the fall of water. He looked up at me, his wet hair plastered against his pale face.

"My God," I said as I shrugged out of the jacket Angela had lent me and dropped to my knees, reaching for him. Frigid water rained onto my arms as I took his face in my hands. He was ice cold and shivering hard enough that his whole body was shaking. "What are you doing? Are you okay?"

He said something too softly for me to hear. I scrambled to turn off the tap and cursed as I knelt back down, wiping water off my face. "What?"

"Delirious," he said simply.

"Deliri—" I shook my head and reached to pull off his wet shirt, letting it fall to the floor of the shower with a sodden smack. "Can you stand? You're freezing."

With my help, he did stand, trembling from head to toe as I wrapped a towel around him.

"I had to be delirious. I was seeing things," he said, pulling the towel tight against his chest. "I saw—it felt so real, but it couldn't have been."

At the moment, I wasn't sure what to think. It was impossible that a girl could have climbed inside his window, four floors up. I stepped back out into the bedroom and peered at the window. It was ajar, the curtains rippling from the breeze, rain splattering on the sill.

"Did you open it earlier?" I asked, moving toward the window. I didn't remember opening it.

"No," he called. "I only got up to use the bathroom before I called you. I was in bed the rest of the time."

I put my hands up on the top of the ledge to close it, but out of curiosity, I lifted it further open to peer outside; there was nothing, not even a small ledge. No one, unless tethered to a crane or able to defy gravity, could have possibly gotten up here. I pushed the window shut and turned, going back to the bathroom.

"Maybe you're having a side effect of those anti-virals."

"Seeing a girl climb through the window?"

"I—I don't know what other explanation there would be unless you were dreaming—but we were talking, so that's not the case," I said, my thoughts whirling before he shivered hard enough for his teeth to start clicking, the sound snapping me out of it.

I walked into the bedroom and began digging through one of the bags he'd packed in a rush the night before, grabbing him a shirt and pants. I handed them to him and picked up Angela's coat from the sink, shaking it and hanging it to the side.

As Edward dressed, I studied him—the pink tint of his eyes, glinted with illness, and the uncertain fear washed across his face—he very well could have been in the middle of a fever haze that had conjured up something unrealistic.

"Did she look similar to an actress in one of the movies you were watching?" I asked as we walked into the bedroom. "Anyone who could have, you know, duplicated in an… I don't know, fantasy delusion?"

"It definitely wasn't a fantasy," he said bleakly, taking a seat on the bed and taking a short breath. "But…"

"But?"

"She had red eyes."

I barely had time to react since, at that moment, Angela rushed into the room like a gust of wind.

"What happened?" she exclaimed, looking almost as pale as Edward. "Jesus Christ, Bella—when I saw you run like that, I almost had a heart attack." She stared at us. "Why are you guys wet?"

"Sorry, Ang, I panicked. Edward was…"

Drowning himself in the shower because he was hallucinating that a demon-eyed girl was climbing through the window.

Edward explained for himself what he'd seen to Angela, and her brows knotted just as mine had at the bizarre story. "It was like there was somebody here," he said again, clearing his throat. "I mean, she spoke to me and touched me, and… it just seemed so real."

"She talked to you?" Angela asked, just as I said, "She touched you?"

He started to speak, but Angela reached over to feel his forehead and he went quiet, looking sheepish.

"What did she say?" I asked after a few moments.

He hesitated. "Something about breaking the rules. And she knew my name."

Angela and I both stared at him, slowly turning to look at each other.

"If he'd been delirious, could he have snapped out of it from the shower?" I asked her. "Or could this be a side effect of the medication?

"Well," she said, looking baffled, "That would be rare, but not impossible." She turned back to Edward. "It's more likely your fever spiked. 104 or 105 can cause hallucinations. I suppose the shower could have helped, but… if you were delirious, I don't see how you would have made the rational decision to get in."

The rain outside raised its volume, coming down harder, filling the silence around us like white noise in an empty room.

"Did you maybe see someone who wandered up here by mistake? A new, nosy guest or something?" Angela asked. "If you were hazy, maybe it seemed weirder than it was, and you scared them away?"

Edward pressed his fingers to his head, grimacing. "I felt pretty foggy after waking up, but I don't know. I was thinking straight enough to be talking to Bella. Whoever it was, I've never seen her before." He paused to cough, his voice scratchy as he added, "But even weirder, she was wearing your jacket."

I creased my brow, a strange feeling in my stomach. "My jacket?"

My jacket had been missing for a few days. But it was impossible that it could have been on a stranger that could scale up the side of buildings and climb in windows.

"She came at me so fast…" He trailed off, looking dazed. "I could feel her grab me and shove me against the wall, and I remember getting dizzy. Then there was a noise outside… I guess from the window. I feel like I heard other voices, but I couldn't tell. She said something else, but my head was swimming—I was too panicked, I guess, and then I passed out. She was gone when I woke up and I figured I imagined it. Right?"

"You passed out? Did you hit your head?" I said, reaching to feel the back of his head for a lump. I didn't feel anything abnormal, but I turned to Angela, and we both paused to have a silent conversation with each other.

Running it through my head, it sounded crazy. I knew how vivid his dreams and nightmares could get sometimes, and this was completely off the wall; it had to be his fever talking. It was unintentional, but my voice came out sounding calm and rehearsed, like I was dealing with a child. "Maybe we should go to the ER."

"No," Edward said, coming more alive. "Absolutely not."

"Edward, it might not be such a bad idea," Angela said, concerned.

He shook his head, looking miserable. "I feel like shit, but I don't need a hospital." He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. "I just need to sleep it—"

Angela's eyes widened suddenly, and she reached to pull his arm forward.

"Off," he finished, stunned, getting a look at his hand. Bright red came away on his fingers, like a small brush of paint.

I quickly moved to him, and Angela and I both leaned him forward. There, on the back of his neck, were four scratches, razor-thin and equal in length, seeping with beads of blood.

-:-

A/N: It's been so long. I've always thought about this story in the back of my mind and it's eaten at me for years to keep going and attempt to finish. Honestly, I can't predict how long that will take (full-time jobs and personal life, am I right?), but I'll still be here, lingering in the background with the will to finish one day. Thank you so much for reading.