Summary:

After Edward leaves Bella in the forest, she is attacked and transformed into a vampire. Twenty years later, Bella is a musician in the prestigious New York Philharmonic. The memories of Edward still haunt her. What happens when she gets a surprise visit, in her own element?

I sighed, and leaned over the counter, looking the plump man in the eyes.

"Look, if you won't give me the goods at a good price, then I will have to take my business elsewhere."

I was about to turn around and leave, when the man groaned.

"Miss Swan, you win again. Fifty cents a bottle?" he asked, ducking under the counter.

"That will be absolutely perfect."

I beamed at the good-natured old man and quickly pressed the ten-dollar bill into his hand. I picked up the box.

"It was nice seeing you, Mister Douglas." I said, walking out the door.

"Don't forget to pick up your mouthpiece and snake brush on Tuesday!" he reminded me.

"Sure!"

I quickly headed to my red truck, a simple 1997 Ford F-150. It was a long bed, perfect for carrying my supplies. I casually tossed the box in the back, and unlocked my door, climbing into the truck. I turned on the truck quickly, fidgeting with the starter. My radio immediately turned on, music turned on lowly. The sounds of an orchestra flowed out of the speakers and I smiled.

I, Isabella Marie Sw- no, not Swan- Masen, am a trumpet player for the New York Philharmonic.

And, I am also a vampire.

Lucky me.

The first thing was a choice. The latter, well, not exactly.

After Edward had left me in the woods, things took a turn for the even worse.

"You- you don't want me?"

"No."

-

"Edward!" I sobbed, curled up into a small ball at the base of a tree.

-

A female vampire leaned over me, blood red eyes glistening in the moon's eternal sparkle.

"I've got you."

-

The pain would simply not cease. I twisted and convulsed in pain, the intense ardor burning my entire body. This could not go on any further. I wished, hoped I would die, anything to save me from suffering through it completely alone.

Twenty years later, my life was very different. All those I knew previously were lost to me. I didn't even know what had happened to my father. I was completely alone, give or take a few friendly vampires I knew around the area. Mister Douglas himself was one.

Mr. Douglas's shop was one I visited often, often buying all of my supplies there, including my trumpet.

I drove through the deserted roads, knowing that the highways were more likely than not congested at the moment. My mind slowly began to drift back to Edward.

I hadn't seen Edward since. It hurt terribly to go through every day. A small detail would remind me sharply of him, and then the gaping hole in my chest, created that fateful night, would reopen, exposing my feelings.

So I threw myself into my music. It was a distraction, a way for me to escape reality. I had perfected my skill over the long period of time, and it had all paid off. I knew that eventually I would have to leave the Philharmonic. Never aging would seem peculiar to most. But I had to make the most of it.

For most, I was a musical prodigy, joining one of the world's leading groups at nineteen. I had joined a little over a year ago.

And this musical prodigy had a concert she would be even later to if she didn't step on it.

I quickly reached 85…then 90…. then 100.

Ten minutes later, I would be parking in front of my small apartment, and rushing upstairs, making sure to pull out a small bottle of that valve oil to stick in my purse before I rushed off upstairs. I didn't even get a relaxing shower. It was all a big blur.

I hastily threw on my white dress shirt and pants, meanwhile getting my hair to stay in the gentle waves they were supposed to be in. I must've sprayed at least a gallon of assorted chemicals into it. There had to be a mile wide hole above my head in the ozone layer at the moment.

I ran to my bathroom, and quickly pulled out a small bottle of liquid blush, quickly wiping it under my eyes. I was a tad hungry, but I couldn't show it up on stage. I didn't bother with anything else, and I flipped the switch as I ran out, seizing my trumpet case as I streaked out, hair flying in my eyes. I ran down the stairs, and conveniently, there was the limousine, waiting just as the director, Mr. Johnson, had promised the group.

I opened the door and gracefully slipped in, closing the door behind me. I heard a chuckle from the front as we started off.

"Saved there, Miss Masen, weren't you?"

"Don't I know it." I said, grinning.

The ride itself was relatively short. Damien, the driver, had taken the back roads, thus cutting the time into ten minutes, give or take a few.

I looked out of the darkened window, and out towards Central Park Concert Hall.. It was completely swamped with cars, and I thanked my lucky stars that Damien was a good- and fierce- driver. He quickly navigated through the small spaces, managing to squeeze out of the bottleneck traffic towards the back of the arc, where he managed to find a parking spot.

"Damien, you're a life saver."

I already was pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. It was a little habit I had picked up from-

"Miss Masen, it's my job."

"And you do it very well."

I grinned at him, and climbed out of the limo, pulling my trumpet behind me.

"Have a nice night, Miss Masen."

"You also. Enjoy yourself, won't you?"

"Sure thing."

I ran up the stairs, my flats enabling me to run all the more quickly. I searched for the door- I had never been there, and was unfamiliar with the area. I desperately searched, my eyes scanning alongside the building. A cool voice, musical, rang out.

"Are you lost?"

I swiftly turned around. Behind me stood a man. He was clad in a coat, his face shadowed by a hood raised. I could not see anything about him, but there was something about him that reminded me desperately of- I cut off my thinking. There was no need to pain myself before something so important.

"Yes, I'm trying to get to my dressing room. Room G12?" I hoped I sounded more confident than what I felt.

"Down two doors." He muttered, giving me a swift nod.

He brushed past me and walked towards the end of the rooms, where he opened a door, and swept inside.

. I gaped after him, but I closed my eyes and muttered softly to myself, "Relax."

Walking down to the door, I cringed at what would wait for me there. With my kind of luck…before I could even open the door, the door swung open, and a pair of hands seized me and dragged me inside. I sighed with annoyance. This could only mean…

"BELLA!" Danielle fumed, dragging me inside, "You were supposed to be here about two hours ago. Where WERE you?"

"You're not my mom." I muttered under my breath, but nonetheless placed my case on a small table, and opened it, revealing the most beautiful thing in the world.

Well, at the moment, at least. Well, for me anyways.

A Yamaha trumpet, made of actual silver was resting in the velvet inside. I felt the cool metal beneath my fingertips and I smiled. It was going to be all right.

Unfortunately, a certain Danielle HAD to rip me away from my delight. I swear, the director's wife could be utterly terrifying at times.

"Isabella Masen, John has been pulling his hair out out of worry. I do not want a bald husband,"

"Yeah, yeah." I muttered, walking out of the door. Thankfully, on the inside were signs pointing me to the main warm-up area. Danielle trailed after me, occasionally hissing a threat or two, which I ignored.

I burst thru the doors, and into the blinding light. A man, tall, young, with a bit of a belly, greeted me with a groan.

"Isabella, you're going to be the death of me." He muttered, head in his palms.

"So, how much longer?" I asked, hoping I wasn't too late.

"Ten minutes." John looked at me disdainfully.

"Perfect." I grinned, and put my trumpet to my lips.

Everything seemed to clear through at that very moment. The pain, the doubt, everything, just…gone.

I hit the valves gently, switching from note to note rapidly, my fingers rapidly tapping in a series of different combinations and tones.

Mr. Johnson shoved a tuner under my nose.

"Quickly, quickly." He said, tapping his foot impatiently.

I tuned as he talked to the rest of the group.

All I heard was "Blah blah blah…. Tone quality…. blah blah blah…fingerings…blah blah blah…. Guest Director."

I looked up from my trumpet, eyes wide.

"Guest director?"

Mr. Johnson looked irritated. "Isabella, if you had shown up to the last rehearsal, you would have had a chance to meet him. We're playing music he picked and I suppose you will have to sight-read."

"And I suppose I will have to kill you." I muttered, prying the music from his fingers.

I had no time to glance over it; we got shooed out onto the stage immediately. So much for the Philharmonic, right?

I quickly made my way towards the third row, left flank, on my point of view. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned, looking a very tired looking assistant in the eyes.

"Honey, you have to be out in the right wing." She said, looking over me oddly.

"But- I'm supposed to play." I stammered.

"But you're supposed to introduce first."

I felt faint; the world beneath me was spinning. A wave of irritation washed over me.

"Whose great idea was that?" I muttered, annoyance evident in my voice .

"His." She said simply, handing me a note card. "Read this when I give the symbol."

I growled under my breath, but took the card and read it over. Simple enough. I carelessly threw the card back, and stepped out to the right wing, my eyes narrowed. Oh, that Mr. Johnson was a crafty one. Punish me, will he? Oh, yes, cunning, but…

"In three, two, one." Said the attendant.

I was taken aback, but I nonetheless laid my trumpet down on the ground, and stepped out. The curtains were closed, the spotlight was on me. I took a deep breath, and stood at the microphone.

"Welcome to the New York Philharmonic annual performance. We are delighted you were able to join us here tonight." I paused, "Please take a moment now, as a courtesy to those around you, and silence all noise making devices. Please, no digital photography. Thank you, and enjoy the performance."

I bowed and headed between the curtains. Oh, he was going to pay. But for now…

I quickly picked up my trumpet and turned to take a seat. But there was no chair. Why? WHY?

Mr. Johnson coughed behind me and I spun around, one hand clutching my instrument, the other on my hip. He raised an eyebrow and pointed at a chair right next to the flutes, dead center of the stage. Now I was sure. He would pay.

I mouthed 'Bite Me', and smiled inwardly. It was a tad ironic, I thought, sliding over to the chair, where my music was already sitting on the stand in front of me. I heard a chuckle and I shook my head. Why was the director so sadistic?

The velvet red curtains slid open. There must have been at least a thousand people, and I was not prepared for all this. I took a deep breath, and waited as he walked up onto his stand and raised his baton.

Our first piece was my absolute favorite. Amazing wasn't enough to describe it, it was invigorating.

"Love is Blue by Paul Mauriat." Said a woman's voice over the many amplifications.

And then…we were off.

We had spent six months on it, hammering over it many an hour. And it paid off.

My fingers flew over my keys, my mind concentrated on the moment. It was nerve-racking, it was exhausting, it was…bliss.

In an unusual way, I connected to this song. Blue…was the color that I belied love to be, now. Sorrow…but then later on, the song lightened, and it seemed, hopeful in a manner. Maybe it was a symbol of my life to come. Or maybe I wasn't too fussy with these things. I hoped it wasn't the latter.

And then it was over. The applause overflowed the air, and if my heart had been beating, I guarantee it would have stopped. I felt electricity surge in me, and I sat up a bit straighter. The feeling was irreplaceable; I had never felt like that before when playing. I closed my eyes for a second, wishing I had somebody to share this with.

And knowing that was the worst possible second to do so, and not caring, I imagined Edward, with his arms around me, every line of his handsome face in lucid Technicolor. My throat clenched, and I berated myself for my colossal stupidity. The worst possible time and place. I took a deep breath as our next song was announced.

"The Lonely Bull- solo performed by Isabella Masen and Anthony Machado." Said the voice pleasantly.

I groaned as I looked down at my sheet music. Of course I conveniently forgot about the solo. To think that vampires are supposed to have photographic memories..

Anthony, a base player, was sitting next to me. I flashed him a half smile, and he grinned encouragingly.

Yet again, Mr. Johnson brought his baton down and we began to play.

The song was incredibly high, very much so. I had to concentrate ten times more on this one. Measure by measure, the music became more and more blurred, until I was unable to see it, and was playing it solely by memory. Thank god for insane directors, for the first time ever, right?

The minutes flew by, and I saw a light shimmer of perspiration on my forearms. I was pushing myself, forcing myself to play as well as I could. The moment…was coming right now.

Measure one hundred eighteen, one nineteen…

I took a deep breath and stood up, right on cue, alongside Anthony. Our part was supposed to be an exchange of music, a conversation of instruments, one answering the other.

The few notes were played, and I took a deep breath.

My trumpet was already up. My mind reeled as I played my short part, slurring it carefully.

Anthony played again.

Same part…crescendo…louder…louder…louder! I screamed to myself, fingers drumming away rapidly.

And then everyone else came in. I rapidly sat down, making sure to find the correct part in the music, and played on.

My mind was going at my preferred driving speed, with so many thoughts racing.

I hadn't bothered to think about fingerings, it had all come so naturally.

I hadn't royally screwed up.

I actually liked what I sounded like.

All too soon, Mr. Johnson cut us off and bowed, as the curtains closed, signaling intermission. As soon as I was sure it was closed, I sighed, getting up.

"Who wants to help me murder Johnson?" I said, trailing out of the stage area.

I hear a smattering of laughter behind me, and kept going. I quickly found him, wiping his forehead with his tie, and drinking water from a small bottle.

I bared my teeth for a second.

"Mr. Johnson, I will have to kill you."

He rolled his eyes, "Pray tell Bella, why this time?"

I nearly growled out loud, but managed to restrain myself.

"You have a guest conductor later on tonight, that I never found out about, I get stuck introducing, you stick me out in the front, and you picked the hottest night of summer to do this thing."

"Now, now Bella. You did rather well tonight, incredibly, as a matter of fact. There's no point in complaining. Only two more songs- one with the guest director. You might want to look over the song before it's too late."

I glared at him, and walked out, grumbling under my breath.

Stupid insensitive conductors and their crazy talking…mumble mumble… I can't believe he did that…

I looked up at those around me. They were already used to my talking to myself. More often than not, they did it also. It was something that came with the stress of all this, most likely.

I was always a lonely bird in the group. I guess I could say that my music spoke for itself. In a way. Nobody bothered to make small talk.

I walked to my chair, hoping to get a look at the music before—

"Ladies, Gentlemen, please get back to your seats!" yelled Mr. Johnson, standing on his podium.

My god, he was quick. I glared daggers at him as I sat down. It was official. He hated me. Completely.

I flipped to the back of my music…there was the song, waiting. I pulled it out and read it over.

Ah ha! Rhapsody in Blue! Ah h- oh crap. This would be painful. Jazz wasn't exactly my best kind of music. I was good at it, but the quick fingerings were a bit hard.

Thankfully we had another song to go before that one. A nice western, the Magnificent Seven.

Well, it was most obvious weren't exactly standard, that was for sure.

I mean, maybe the first one, but the rest…not so much.

I sighed, the song was only a bit more than four minutes, and from what I could tell, the Rhapsody was next. Oh well, at least it was reduced.

I sat, crossing my legs slightly as I rested my trumpet on my left knee.

"Any moment now, John." Said the voice on the loudspeaker.

I snickered as he turned beet red, and turned as the curtains opened. He bowed once more to the audience, and turned back to us, baton raised in the air.

It slashed down, jumpstarting the band.

This piece was weighty on the trumpet parts; I had to keep my guard up. There were four of us, and we were expected to shine in this song. As much as Mr. Johnson irked me, for the sake of everyone else, I couldn't mess this up. I simply couldn't. I played quickly, not thinking, not feeling, just playing, acting on my instincts.

I nearly stumbled over a part where the eighth notes were at least two whole steps above the other, but I managed to catch myself, and I halted for two measures, and then continued on, blazing through the song. It was a quickly paced song, Allegrissimo in all its glory.

It inspired a feeling of rebelliousness and bravery, to all those who heard it. Well, that's what the paper said it was supposed to do. I wasn't too sure what the audience was actually hearing.

The song needed a lot of air support- thankfully I didn't need to breathe. I managed to inhale bits of air through my nostrils, while at the same time played. What I ended up with was a song that I didn't even need to rest for, helping me connect it even more.

Before I even knew it, the song was over, and Mr. Johnson turned, taking a deep bow as the curtains closed for a second time, marking the change between conductors. An uneasy feeling spread throughout my body, reaching my fingertips in an instant. Something was about to happen, I could feel it.

The conductor smiled and said, "Okay children," I scoffed at his teasing, many of us were older than him. I hid a grin as I imagined his face if he ever realized that I was at least fifteen years older than him, "Behave."

With a nod towards the right, he stepped off the stage. I turned to see exactly who emerged from the curtains.

And then I saw somebody I had thought I would never see again.

A/N: I already have Chapter Two written up- review for a quicker update!