Author's Note: Thanks to moosals for pre-reading and forcing me to put more of this in my own voice. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.
This was an entry in the recent angst contest. Of course it didn't win — I don't have pretty enough words to win something like that. Please read with caution, as there will be character death.
I had a second entry in the contest which I'll be posting tomorrow.
"Miss Swan?" the nurse calls. The old woman looks up from her perch by the window.
"Your daughter is here. Should I send her in?"
She nods, and soon her daughter steps into the room.
"Mama!"
"Nessie, baby, thank you for coming," she says as she hugs her daughter tightly.
As the younger woman takes her seat, the old lady smoothes her skirt, smiling at her nervously. "I have some news," she begins. "The doctors think I have less than two weeks left."
Nessie gasps. "No, Mama! You have to keep fighting!"
"I can't fight this cancer any more, baby girl. It's time for you to let me go. I've lived a good long life, and I'm ready for this." Ready to join him, she adds silently.
"I'm 52 years old and you're still calling me 'baby girl'," Nessie laughs through her tears.
"That's because you are still my baby girl," her mother insists. "And it's past time that you know who your father is."
"Mama!"
"I know, I know… when you were a teenager, you begged me to tell you, and I always refused. But I can't go to my grave with this secret."
She closes her eyes in memory. "The story begins in the spring of 2012, back when I lived in Washington…"
"See you tomorrow, Bella," my best friend Alice calls to me as I leave the hospital. Waving to her, I can't contain my smile as I cross the street and head to the bus stop.
After an 18-hour shift, I am exhausted, yet excited. Tonight is my first date with Mike Newton. Good things are finally happening for me — I can feel it.
I met Mike earlier this week. After his elderly mother had fallen and broken her ankle, he showed up at the hospital to be with her. Once he learned that his mother was going to be all right, he started flirting with me. My dating history has been pretty abysmal since I moved out of Jake's house three years ago, so I was beyond excited that this good-looking, successful — if his clothes were any indication — older man had taken an interest in me.
When Mike asked me out, I jumped at the chance. My mom, Renee, always told me that you could learn a lot about a man by the way he treated his mother — and Mike Newton clearly adored his mother.
If only I'd been able to apply that condition with Jake. But unfortunately, Jake's mom had died in a car accident when he was only nine, so I'd never met her.
When my bus comes, I quickly swipe my pass and take a seat. I am so tired, but I'm afraid I'll miss my stop if I close my eyes.
Arriving home, I walk up the stairs to my third floor apartment and go inside. I check my watch to see that I have only about five hours until I'm supposed to meet Mike for dinner. I have time for a nap, but not the good long rest that I really need. It's going to take lots of coffee for me to make a good impression on Mike.
I reach for a bottle of water from my fridge and curse when I notice that I have no milk. Despite practically subsisting on coffee, I've never been able to drink it black.
With a sigh, I grab my purse and walk back down the stairs. There's a convenience store on the ground floor of the next building over. Sure it's over-priced, but it's a way better alternative than the six-block walk to the nearest "real" grocery store.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cope," I call to the elderly woman at the cash register as I enter the store, heading for the refrigerated section in the back for my half-gallon of milk.
Just as I am about to open the door, I hear Mrs. Cope shouting from the front of the store. "Just go now — I don't want any trouble!"
Turning around, I spot two men standing in front of Mrs. Cope. A balding, middle-aged man walks up to the counter with his basket, oblivious to the trouble. One of the men spins around, pointing a gun at the middle-aged man, who drops the basket, slowly walking backwards with his hands up.
"Everybody get down!" the man with the gun yells to the handful of other customers in the store. "If I see any cell phones, I won't hesitate to shoot," he adds.
Quickly ducking behind a display, I watch the action in the front of the store in horror. A trembling Mrs. Cope opens the cash register and begins pulling bills out.
"Hurry the fuck up!" the second man yells, stuffing the bills into a duffle bag. With his back to me, all I can see is a stringy dark blond ponytail peeking out from under his knit cap. "Come on, let's get out of here," he shouts at his companion.
Before they can reach the door, Mr. Cope, the elderly store owner, comes out of the storage room, holding a handgun which he aims in the direction of the two men.
"Stop right there!" he yells.
"What are you gonna do, Pops — shoot me?" Mr. Ponytail sneers, pointing his gun at the old man.
Suddenly, I hear the chime sound as the front door opens, a new customer walking inside. Mr. Ponytail turns at the sound and fires his gun at the man, who rushes out of the store as the glass door shatters.
Flinching at the unbelievably loud noise, I duck down as a second and then a third shot ring out. Hearing Mrs. Cope scream, I tentatively peek out and see her husband lying on the floor. I can't tell where he's been shot, but there's no mistaking the growing pool of blood beneath him.
Looking up at the robbers, I notice the one with the ponytail is clutching his stomach, a red blotch forming on his light gray t-shirt. "Jesus, come on," the other one says urgently, helping him off the floor.
The uninjured robber opens the front door, looking around outside. "Fuck, it's the police," he cries, closing the door. He looks between the injured old man on the floor and his bleeding companion as if he can't decide what to do.
Mrs. Cope is still screaming, "Help him! Somebody help my husband — he needs a doctor!"
"Oh God, um, where's the back? There must be a back way out?" the uninjured one asks.
I watch in shock as the two of them head into the storage room, but quickly return to the front of the store, apparently unsuccessful.
"He needs help," Mrs. Cope cries again, bending over her husband's prone body.
Suddenly the man with the ponytail bends over, his face crumpled in pain. "Edward, I need help," he moans.
"We'll get you some help, just give me a minute to think," the uninjured one — Edward — says, pacing back and forth while he pinches the bridge of his nose.
The tense silence that follows is broken by the sound of sirens outside — multiple sirens. "Oh man," Edward says, peeking through the window blinds. "How the fuck are we gonna get out of here?"
Standing, Mrs. Cope cries, "He needs a doctor!"
"Shut up— I'm tired of your whining!" Mr. Ponytail yells in return.
"Please, he needs help…" she wails.
"You just shut your mouth. I need help, too, you know?" Mr. Ponytail cries, pulling the stool out from behind the counter so he can sit down. "Edward, will you shut her up?"
Edward walks up to the woman, staring down at her. "What are we supposed to do? Just… be quiet… please."
I'm no doctor, but I am a nurse — an ER nurse. Working at a hospital in a not-so-nice part of Seattle, I see gunshot wounds practically every day. I have to try and help Mr. Cope.
Slowly, I walk out from behind the display, making my way toward the front of the store. Hearing my footsteps, Edward spins, pointing his gun at me.
"Wait, I—I'm a nurse," I stammer. "Maybe I can help him and Mrs. Cope will be quiet."
I feel my face heat up as Edward looks me up and down. He's got to see my scrubs and realize I'm telling the truth. "Hey James, there's a nurse," he calls to his companion.
"Get her over here," he moans.
Walking up to me, Edward asks, "What's your name?"
"Um, Bella," I reply shyly. He's so tall that he towers over me.
"Well, Bella, maybe you can go and help my cousin James."
"I—I think her husband's a lot worse."
"I said, go help my cousin," he enunciates slowly, stepping close to me. His eyes are green, the color of brilliant emeralds, boring into mine — a perfect complement to his thick reddish-brown hair. Jesus, Bella, why the hell are you admiring his looks when he's pointing a gun at you?
Ducking my head, I walk over to the bleeding robber. I lift his shirt, assessing the wound on the left side of his abdomen with trembling hands. My heart is beating so rapidly that I'm afraid it's going to beat right out of my chest. As I try to calm myself down enough to take his pulse, the store's phone begins to ring.
"Should we get that?" Edward asks.
"Just let it ring," James replies, shaking his head.
For several minutes, the phone keeps ringing, leaving everyone in the store on edge. "James, maybe we should answer it," Edward says.
"I just need a minute to think."
"You really need medical attention for your wound," I tell James.
"Just make it stop bleeding."
"You need to see a doctor," I insist.
"If I go out there, I go to jail. You need to fix it."
"But I don't have the supplies!"
"Look around, there's a whole store full."
"Ok, fine," I sigh, turning to look around the store. Edward follows me as I hunt for supplies. "Your cousin is going to die if he doesn't get to a hospital," I warn him.
I pick up some rubber gloves, along with duct tape and a box of adult diapers — not ideal, but the best I can come up with quickly. After putting on the rubber gloves, I tear open the box of diapers, pull one out and press it over the wound on the man's stomach. "Hold onto it," I tell him.
"Edward, get something in front of the door," James directs as I pull off some of the tape, winding it around his stomach, securing the diaper tightly. I watch as Edward and the middle-aged man move a display unit to block the front door — no one can go in or out.
"Can I go and look at the other man?" I ask James when I'm finished. "I'll come back and check on you later."
James waves me away, and I move toward the injured old man lying on the floor. When I reach Mr. Cope, he's white as a sheet. Kneeling, I place my ear over his chest, listening for his heart and breathing. Hearing nothing, I immediately begin CPR, asking Mrs. Cope to blow into his mouth while I do chest compressions.
"Please, I need some help if I'm going to save this man's life," I shout.
"Will you shut her up?" James says, peeking through the blinds at the police.
"I need someone to do CPR while I get more supplies."
Edward motions to a young female customer to take over the chest compressions.
"What's your name?" I ask her as I show her what to do.
"Angela."
I dash around the store, picking up the various items I need to perform a tracheotomy. When I return to Mr. Cope, I can hear the police outside shouting through megaphones, asking if anyone needs a doctor, and telling the men to let the hostages go. Their constant yapping is making me even more nervous.
"Ok, you can move back now, Mrs. Cope," I direct once I've opened a small manicure kit.
Pouring rubbing alcohol over the tiny scissors from the kit to sterilize them, I use them to make an incision in the old man's neck while Edward hovers over me, watching me work. After the middle-aged man helps me by pouring alcohol onto a straw, I gently insert it into the hole I made to function as a trach tube then secure it with a roll of duct tape. MacGyver has nothing on me.
"We need to get out of here," Edward says to his cousin.
"I know, I know," he replies, still watching the cops outside. "Just let me think."
"You weren't thinking very much earlier, were you?" Edward asks rhetorically.
"So this is all my fault."
"Well, it was your idea!" Edward screams.
I blow into the straw a few times and finally the man coughs — he's breathing. "He's got a pulse, you can stop," I tell Angela.
"That's good, that means you've got it, right?" Edward asks. "He's gonna be ok?"
Listening to the man's shallow breaths, I ask for someone to bring me an ice pick. Edward finds me one and I insert it into the man's chest. "I need another straw — smaller than these," I yell, holding up the box of straws I'd grabber earlier. Still sobbing, Mrs. Cope hands me a small straw from near the coffee pot.
"Jeez, how long is this gonna take?" James whines.
"Have you got somewhere to go, James? I shot the man. If he dies, it's my ass, not yours."
"Right, like I'm gonna get probation."
Determining that Mr. Cope needs a chest tube, I get up to find more supplies. I've seen doctors put in chest tubes numerous times in my career, but I haven't done it myself since nursing school a dozen years ago.
"What are we doing now?" Angela asks when I return.
"He needs a chest tube," I tell her.
"Do it," Edward encourages.
"That's not what I do — I'm a nurse. Please, we need real medical equipment, you gotta send a doctor in here."
"Not a chance," James retorts.
Praying that I've found the right spot between his ribs, I mark it with a black marker, then insert a screwdriver into the mark. Using the tube of a tampon, I insert it into the hole I've just made, securing it with more duct tape.
As I work, I notice that he's no longer breathing. "Mrs. Cope — blow into his trach tube. I've lost his pulse," I direct as I begin CPR.
"You can't do it, can you?" Edward asks, watching me carefully.
I refuse to give up, continuing CPR for several minutes until Mrs. Cope puts her hand over mine, stopping me. She knows what I refuse to admit — there's nothing I can do without proper medical supplies and equipment.
Ripping off the rubber gloves, I bury my face in my hands, feeling awful, despite knowing that none of this is my fault. Edward dashes away from me, toward the storage room. Moments later, I hear the unmistakable sound of him vomiting.
When he comes back out, I ask Edward and the middle-aged man to help me move the body into the back room.
"Edward, I'm not kidding — your cousin needs a hospital," I tell him once we're out of James's hearing range. "He's losing a lot of blood. You need to give yourselves up."
"We can't turn ourselves in; I fucking killed a man," he cries, staring at me as if I hold the key to the solution that will get him out of this mess. I begin to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
"They'll go easy on you. You've never killed a man before," I reply.
"Yeah, and how do you know that?"
"You haven't, have you?" I say quietly.
"Come on," he replies, motioning me back out to the store.
Once we reach the front of the store, the phone starts ringing again. Edward and James argue for several minutes about answering it, trying to figure out what they can ask for to get themselves out of this. Edward wants to ask for medical supplies, but I know that won't be enough to keep James alive.
"Now look what you did," James sneers when the phone blessedly stops ringing. Pointing at the middle-aged man, who's just sitting on the floor minding his own business, he orders, "I don't like him, tape him up."
Edward grabs my discarded roll of duct tape and tapes the man's hands together, then stalks up to his cousin. "This is all your fault, James! We should've waited until there weren't any customers."
"It was the fucking owner who shot me!"
Suddenly, the police go back to shouting through their megaphones, again asking the robbers to give up the hostages. "Don't they ever shut up?" James growls.
"You — you're a murderer," Mrs. Cope cries to Edward. "All I wanted was a chance to tell him I love him one more time."
I watch the look on his face as the old woman berates him. I know he's never killed anyone before.
"I'm sorry… he shot at us first. I—I had no choice."
With one hand still holding his gun, Edward tears at his hair with his other hand, before he retreats to the back storage room. While Angela tries to comfort Mrs. Cope, I slowly follow him, finding him staring at Mr. Cope's body.
"I suppose you see a lot of dead people," he says quietly. "I mean, in your line of work."
"Yeah."
"Guess you sort of get used to it."
"Not really," I say, looking up at him.
"Thank you, Bella," he says quietly, staring into my eyes.
"For what?"
"For trying to help. For trying so hard to keep me from becoming a murderer. I'm sorry for yelling at you."
Slowly, he reaches his hand out toward mine. The phone begins ringing again, interrupting our quiet moment, as he rips his hand back.
"James, will you answer the fucking phone!" he screams.
When James just sits there on the stool, Edward walks out of the storage room, motioning at me to follow. "Will you come tend to my cousin?" he asks me.
"What do you want?" he snarls into the phone as I make my way to James.
I pull up his t-shirt, noticing the large amount of blood he's still losing. The diaper is soaked through, and I need to replace it with another one. As I work, I listen to Edward on the phone with the police, growing more and more agitated.
"No, we don't need a doctor," he growls, "We've got our very own nurse here."
Finally in aggravation, he slams down the phone and punches at the counter, shattering the glass. Stunned, Edward stares up at me, holding his bleeding hand, a look of shock on his face.
I quickly replace the tape around James's stomach, then try to figure out how I can help Edward.
Grabbing a roll of paper towels, I pick up his hand so that I can wipe the blood off enough to truly assess his injuries. As soon as I touch him, I feel a spark from his skin to mine, before he jerks his hand back. It's not like the kind of shock you get from static electricity, but something different. I wonder if he felt it too, given how he pulled away.
Once I've cleaned up as much blood as I can, I grab the tweezers out of the manicure kit I'd opened earlier and begin the painstaking task of pulling tiny shards of glass from his hand. From the corner of my eye, I notice James collapse to the floor as I work. He's losing too much blood.
"He's bleeding badly. I don't know how much time he has left," I tell Edward quietly. "I can keep changing his bandages, but he's going to die without a doctor."
When he doesn't respond, I look up and notice Edward staring at me again, a slight frown on his face.
"Do you have any glue?" I ask, turning to Mrs. Cope, who's sitting with the other hostages on the floor.
"Behind the counter," she answers. I slowly walk over there, easily finding a package of Krazy Glue hanging on a hook. Retuning to Edward, I open the package and pull the top off the glue pen.
"What are you doing?"
"Some of the cuts are too deep. I need to close them… unless you want me to find a needle and thread?"
"No, the glue is fine," he replies quietly, staring down at his bleeding hand. "You weren't lying, were you?" he asks as I apply the glue to the deepest cuts. "About his bleeding."
"No, I wasn't. You need to end this now, Edward," I say while I bandage his numerous other wounds.
Shaking his head once I finish, he looks at James. "I can't believe I let you talk me into something so stupid."
"I just needed the money," James replies.
"But look what we got, James! You were shot, and I don't know how to get us out of this."
"But you're all right."
"I'm not all right — I killed a man," he yells, getting right in James's face. "I killed a man — do you know what that feels like?"
"Do you know what that feels like?" he asks the middle-aged man, who remains silent.
"Do you?" he asks again, turning toward Angela.
"I do," I state definitively.
As Edward stares at me in disbelief, I continue, "I killed a man. I gave him the wrong dosage of his medication. Right after I got out of nursing school."
"But you didn't mean to kill him."
"And you didn't mean to kill Mr. Cope, either."
"Yeah, well, I don't think the cops are gonna care about that," he replies bitterly.
"I'll get us out of this somehow, James. I just have to think of something… I don't know what… Have to think of something," he mutters, pacing back and forth across the store.
From outside, I hear the police on the megaphone, announcing that a hostage negotiator is on the way.
Pulling at his hair, Edward retreats to the storage room again. James is nearly passed out sitting on the floor, but he's still holding on to his gun, so no one makes a move to overtake him.
A couple of minutes later, Edward comes rushing out. "There's a door," he yells excitedly, "Behind a shelving unit."
"Where does it go?" Edward asks Mrs. Cope quietly.
"There's a fire escape. The ladder leads up, onto the building behind us."
"There's a building behind us," he repeats, the idea that there's another way out beginning to dawn.
"I'm so sorry about your husband," he says to her before walking away.
"Bella, you're coming with me," he tells me. Those words should make me afraid, but strangely they don't. Somehow, I just know that Edward would never hurt me.
"James, I have to go," he tells the nearly unconscious man. "If there's a way out, I have to take it. I don't want to leave you, but…"
"You were right," James whispers.
"They'll take good care of you," Edward says, tapping his cousin's arm with his fist before standing up.
"Come on, let's go," he says quietly, pulling me by the arm with his good hand.
Outside, we find ourselves in a six-by-eight space, surrounded on all sides by brick walls. I immediately spot the ladder that Mrs. Cope mentioned.
Climbing up the ladder, we reach the roof of the smaller building behind us. "It's not high enough," Edward says. "I can't see where all the cops are."
Walking to one edge, he peers across a three-foot gap to the fire escape for the next building — my building. "We need to get up there," he says, pointing up the fire escape. Wasting no time, Edward jumps the gap then holds his hand out to me.
"It's too far," I shake my head. "My legs aren't as long as yours. I'll never make it."
"You'll make it. I won't let you fall. Just get a running start and I'll catch you."
Praying this isn't the last thing I ever do, I step back about 12 feet and run, jumping the gap, right into Edward's arms.
"Told you you could make it," he says, smiling at me as he holds me for a beat too long. It's the first time I've seen him smile, and it's beautiful. "Come on, let's start climbing."
Edward takes the steps on the fire escape two at a time. "Hurry! Someone could come back here and see us any time!"
"What if… what if we could go somewhere safe?"
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, I walk along the fire escape until I reach my own apartment. I recognize it from the curtains. "Let's go inside."
Brow furrowed in confusion, Edward joins me, then pulls on the door handle. "It's locked."
Fishing my keys out of my purse, I unlock the door, pushing it open. "My apartment," I tell him needlessly.
Inside, Edward begins walking hurriedly from room to room.
"Looking for something?"
"Your phone."
"Oh, I—I don't have a landline. Waste of money," I add.
"Give me your cell phone."
"What? Now you're gonna steal my phone?"
"I'm not stealing it," he replies, rolling his eyes. "I don't want you to turn on me and call the cops."
"How about a trade? I'll give you my phone if you, um, put the gun down?" I ask quietly.
Staring at me for a moment, he nods, setting it on the end table next to the couch. I relax minutely then take my cell phone out of my purse and hand it to him. He powers it off and sets it next to the gun.
Noticing the blood on my shirt, I head to the bedroom to change it. I've just gotten it over my head when I'm startled to see Edward standing in the doorway.
"Jesus!" I yell, holding my arms up to cover my chest. I'm both embarrassed and turned on by the thought of this man seeing me nearly naked — it's maddening. "What the hell are you doing?"
"What the hell are you doing? You could've come in here to get a gun of your own now that I'm unarmed."
"I've got blood on my shirt. I'm changing it," I reply with a 'duh' expression. "Now turn around so I can get dressed."
"Whatever," he mutters, turning his back to me. "It's not like I saw anything — you're wearing a bra."
Yeah, I'm wearing a bra all right… a lacy bra that is thin enough that Edward could probably see my traitorous nipples — hardened from the thought of him seeing me. I quickly put on the first t-shirt I can find in the drawer then call out to him, "Can I go in the bathroom and wash my hands? They smell like rubber gloves."
"I'll come with you."
With a sigh, I let Edward follow me into the bathroom, praying that I don't have anything embarrassing lying around. I see nothing, thank God, but the bathroom is small enough that there's barely room for the two of us in there.
Once my hands are scrubbed clean, I grab my ever-present bottle of hand lotion — I wash my hands so much that they're always dry.
"That smells good," Edward says quietly. In the mirror, I see myself blush bright pink.
"I've got proper bandages here if you want me to fix up your hand a little better."
"Yeah, sure," he agrees, holding it out for me. "That stings," he whines as I dab some antiseptic on the cuts.
"Sorry."
"You're not sorry — you probably think I deserve it," he replies with a wink. Suddenly I'm feeling very warm, but I can't let Edward know how he affects me. I need some air. Quickly, I wrap a bandage around his hand, covering the worst of his wounds.
"Um, I'm going to the kitchen now," I announce as I duck out of the bathroom. Figures Edward would follow me in there, too — I have more available weapons in the kitchen than the lethal hairbrush I could've grabbed from the bathroom.
It's probably not a great idea to drink when I'm so exhausted, but I really need a beer — and I figure Edward probably needs one, too. I pull two bottles of beer out of the fridge, and Edward smiles gratefully as I hand him one. I'm struck by how young he looks.
"So what's the plan?" I ask him, taking a seat on one end of the couch, while Edward sits on the other — closest to his gun.
He shrugs. "Wait, I guess. Hope that the police think I got away and leave.
"I'm not a bad person, Bella," he continues. "I'm not," he insists when I look up at him skeptically.
"James planned the robbery?"
"Yeah," he nods.
"Why did you have to go with him?"
"You don't understand, Bella. I owe James so much… he's done so much for me."
"Tell me," I say quietly.
Sighing, he sets his half-empty bottle down and begins tearing at his hair with both hands. "My mom, Elizabeth, died when I was 14," he begins. "Breast cancer. My dad left before I was born, and it was hard on her, raising me by herself. She didn't have health insurance, and didn't find the cancer until it was too late.
"Aunt Charlotte, James's mom, is my mom's sister. She took me in after my mom's death. We'd struggled financially for my whole life, but Charlotte's husband Peter is a lawyer. They live in the suburbs in a big house. Aunt Charlotte said Mom was too proud to accept any help from her.
"Once I started high school with James, I got picked on a lot by the other kids after they found out what school I used to go to. But James stood up for me, he protected me. He was only a few months older than me, but he became the big brother I never had.
"When we graduated, both James and I enrolled at U-Dub. James started changing then, started partying too much. After the police raided a frat party he was attending, he was charged with drug possession, and my aunt and uncle disowned him. Without their money, he had to drop out of school in our junior year — and so did I.
"What? Why?"
"They disowned me, too," he replies with a shrug. "I was the kid from the wrong side of the tracks, and they were convinced that I was the one who'd gotten James into drugs. I wasn't — I swear to you, Bella, I've never done anything worse than smoke a couple of joints.
"After we both dropped out of school, I got a job at fucking McDonald's and moved into a tiny apartment with James. He was selling drugs to support his habit and pay his share of the rent. In the last month or so, I noticed he seemed to have extra spending money. Finally I confronted him and he told me he'd robbed a couple stores — gas station convenience stores, mostly.
"I was shocked, outraged — he wasn't raised like that. I wasn't raised like that. And then he asked me to help him with his next robbery. He figured we could pull off bigger targets if there were two of us. I told him no, but then he showed up last night with another gun, begging me to go along with it. I finally caved — I was just so sick and tired of working for minimum wage, coming home smelling like grease every night.
"I know it was wrong," he says, looking up at me. "I'd never even held a gun before. I didn't mean," he stops, choking up, "I didn't mean to kill that man."
"I know you didn't."
"Thank you again… you know, for trying so hard to save that man's life. And for telling me about your own experience."
"I just did my job," I shrug, embarrassed at his praise.
I get us each another beer and we sit in silence for a while. Glancing at my watch, I realize I definitely won't be making my date with Mike tonight.
"Why are you looking at your watch?" Edward asks curiously. "Do you have somewhere to be?"
"Oh, um… I was supposed to go on a date tonight."
"What? Someone's coming here to pick you up?" he asks, clearly panicking.
"No, no, um… I was meeting him somewhere. I never give my address to someone I don't know — I always meet them. Can't be too careful…"
"Yet here you sit drinking a beer with a cold-blooded killer in your apartment."
I look up at Edward sharply. "You're not a cold-blooded killer."
"What the fuck ever…" he shrugs.
"You're not," I insist.
"How old are you, Bella?"
"What? I'm 32," I reply. "What does it matter?"
He shrugs again. "I was just wondering why you aren't married. I mean, you're beautiful, you're caring, you're smart… any man would be lucky to have you." I notice Edward blushing a little after he stops speaking.
He thinks I'm beautiful? What on earth is the proper response to that? I decide on the truth — after all, he was honest with me.
"Because I wasted 10 years of my life on the wrong man," I admit quietly.
"You were married?"
"No, um, something always kept me from marrying Jake."
"We met in college," I begin. "I was studying nursing, and he was majoring in business. We moved in together after graduation. I, um, got suspended from my job after… after I killed the man. Jake encouraged me to just stay home, not go back to work when my suspension was up. He liked the idea of having a woman at home who could have dinner ready for him."
"What the fuck?" Edward exclaims. "It's not the fucking 1950s."
Ignoring his outburst, I continue, "About three years ago, I went to Jake's office to surprise him for his birthday. His secretary wasn't at her desk, so I knocked and then opened the door to his office. I found his secretary — lying on the desk underneath Jake."
I shake my head. "I ran home and packed a bag, staying with a friend for a while. Jake pleaded with me to give him another chance, but I refused. I started looking for a job right away, but the only hospital that would hire me after so many years out of the workforce was in a bad part of town. I couldn't afford to be picky though. This shitty apartment was all I could afford."
"Bella, I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. Jake is an asshole." The look on his face is murderous — it kind of scares me, but I know his anger isn't directed at me.
"I know," I reply with a small smile. "But in some ways, I wish that I had agreed to marry Jake."
"What?! Why on earth would you wish that?"
"Because then I'd have been entitled to alimony to compensate me for all those years I didn't work — at his request. I could afford to live in a nicer neighborhood."
"Yeah, where two hoodlums don't try to rob the store next to your apartment building," Edward snorts.
"Yeah… um, are you hungry? I just realized I haven't eaten in almost 24 hours."
"You'll cook me dinner? Really?"
"Really," I smile, standing up and stretching. Heading to the kitchen, I begin digging around in my fridge to see what I can make.
"I'm sorry," Edward says, watching me closely as I chop up some vegetables for a quick stir fry.
"For what?"
"For a lot of things, I guess… but I meant for messing up your date tonight."
"Oh… well, I'm sure Mike will understand if I have a chance to explain it to him."
As soon as we sit down to eat, Edward scarfs his meal down. I just stare at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.
"Sorry," he shrugs sheepishly. "This is the best meal I've had in ages. I know it's totally sexist, but I wouldn't mind coming home every day to a meal you cooked."
"Um…" He couldn't have meant that the way it sounded, could he?
As I clear the table, Edward stares out the window. "James is gonna be all right, isn't he?"
"I'm sure someone called for help as soon as he passed out. He'll most likely need surgery, but he'll be fine," I reassure him.
Edward finally trusts me enough to leave me alone while I wash the dishes. I'm drying the last one when I hear him shout from the living room, "What the fuck, Bella?"
"What is it?" I ask, rushing in there. He's standing in front of the couch, staring at the wall — and the family photos hanging there.
"Is this your dad? He's a fucking cop?"
"Cops aren't bad people, Edward! Yes, my dad was a cop — Chief of Police, actually. He retired last year when he turned 55, and now he spends all his time fishing."
"He was on the force here in Seattle?"
"No, um, in Forks… it's a small town about four hours away on the Olympic Peninsula."
He points at another photo. "Prom?"
"Yeah," I nod.
"Who's your date?"
"Tyler Crowley."
"You looked beautiful," he says wistfully. "I love that color blue on you."
"So did Tyler," I laugh. "He couldn't keep his hands off of me that night. I lost my virginity in the backseat of his car on the way home."
Edward whips his head around to face me, and I see the muscles clenching in his jaw. He looks pissed.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"He didn't think you deserved better than a quickie in the backseat?"
I shrug. "I was 17 — isn't that what most teenagers do? I'm sure you've had more than your share of backseat romps." Almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel my face heat up. Why I am talking about sex with this man?
"Maybe… but I never dated anyone like you."
"Like me?"
He runs his hand through his hair in what seems to be a nervous gesture. "Like you… special."
"You think I'm special?"
He nods. "I wish… I wish I'd met you in some other time and place. Do you think… never mind."
Frowning, he continues, "I should probably go. Before it gets dark. The cops should be gone by now."
"Where will you go?" I ask him quietly.
"I don't know exactly," he replies, frowning again. "I've gotta get out of town, find a new identity or something. We're not far from the border. Maybe I can get to Canada."
"Ok," I whisper.
"Thank you, Bella, for everything," he says passionately, shocking me by hugging me briefly.
After he picks up his gun, I follow Edward to my front door, wringing my hands nervously. I hope he'll be ok out there.
His bandaged hand on the knob, Edward turns around to face me, blushing pink. "Um, I'd really like to kiss you goodbye… if that's ok."
I nod slowly, walking closer to him. Bending down, Edward lifts my chin gently, before he touches my lips with his own. I'm struck by how soft they are. Pulling back after just a few seconds, Edward stares into my eyes before leaning in again. This time, I can't help kissing him back.
Our sweet goodbye kiss quickly escalates, and Edward wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his body while I twine my arms around his neck.
As he kisses me hungrily, Edward begins walking me backwards, until we both fall onto the couch. I wince as the gun in his waistband pokes me in the stomach. "Sorry," he mutters while he places it on the floor. As we continue to kiss, I feel Edward's fingers just under the hem of my shirt. "Tell me to stop and I will," he whispers.
"I don't want you to stop," I reply, before he plunges his tongue into my mouth. We continue to kiss and make out for several minutes. I feel his hardness against my thigh, but instead of freaking me out, it just makes me want him more.
Suddenly he pulls away, sitting up, panting. "Jesus, look at me — about to take you on the couch like a common whore." He shakes his head. "You're better than that."
Standing, he holds his uninjured hand out to me. I place my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet. I let him lead me to the bedroom, where he stops again, just feet from the bed. "If you don't want this, tell me now and I'll leave."
"I want this," I tell him, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head. Bravely, I grasp the bottom of Edward's t-shirt, and he raises his arms to allow me to remove it. I can't help staring at his chest and toned stomach as his bare skin is revealed to me.
"Like what you see?" he smirks, before undoing his jeans.
My eyes are drawn to a tattoo of a rose on his chest, and I trace my finger over the lines of ink.
"It's for my mom," he says quietly. "She loved roses."
When I step back, Edward begins pulling his jeans down. I quickly remove my scrub pants and lie back on the bed. Stripped down to his underwear, Edward joins me, kissing me gently.
"Fuck, I wish I didn't have these bandages on my hand," he complains, trying to hold himself up with his bad hand so he can stroke my breasts with his good one. "I've been wanting to do this since I saw your bra earlier."
Slowly, I reach around behind my back, unhooking my bra, since I doubt Edward could do it one-handed. Almost immediately, his mouth is on my right nipple, licking and sucking and driving me crazy. When he moves to the other one, I hold his head to my chest, running my fingers through his hair.
I shiver as Edward begins kissing down my stomach, until he reaches the top of my panties. "May I?" he asks.
At my small nod, he begins lowering my panties, inch by inch. Once they're off, he tosses them to the floor, crawling back up my body.
"Ok?" he asks, stroking gently between my legs.
"More than ok," I whisper.
Grinning, he leans down, licking me tentatively where his fingers just were. "Still ok?"
"Perfect."
He must believe me, because he stops being cautious then, diving in and quickly making me scream and writhe on the bed. Wow, he's good at this.
"Oh God… oh God," I scream as I come. Almost immediately, I'm embarrassed by my reaction, and I move to cover myself up.
"Don't," he says gently, removing my hands. "You're beautiful, ok?"
Standing, Edward removes his underwear and I'm struck dumb by the sight of his cock. Holy hell, he's big — much bigger than Jacob.
When he crawls on top of me, I put my hand on his chest, stopping him. "Um, it's been awhile," I say, feeling my face heat up. "Just go slow, all right?"
Kissing me sweetly, Edward smiles at me. "I'll go as slow as you need."
Feeling him at my entrance, I tense up a bit. Despite how right this feels, the events of earlier this afternoon are running on a loop through my mind.
"Relax, Bella," he says quietly as he pushes inside. Slowly — very slowly — I feel him push farther in, until he's buried as deep as possible. He kisses me gently, smiling at me. "Thank you for this."
Just as slowly, he pulls out, then pushes back in. I will myself to relax, just enjoy what this man is doing to my body. In no time, I am wrapping my legs around him, clutching at his back. Maybe it's just been so long that my mind is no longer clear, but I don't ever remember sex being so good with Jake.
Suddenly, Edward wraps his arms tightly around me and flips us over. "I want to watch you," he whispers. "Give me something to picture at night." I'm usually too self-conscious to be on top, but I want to do this for him. Placing my hands on his strong shoulders for leverage, I begin to move.
"That's it," he encourages, thrusting up gently to meet my hips. "Let go, I want to feel you."
With his good hand, Edward is squeezing my breast, running his thumb over the nipple. When he leans up to take the other one in his mouth, I feel my orgasm begin. "Oh my God…"
Before I can blink, Edward has flipped me over again. Holding one leg up, he's now pounding into me, and oh my God, it feels good. I'm no longer coherent. The things he's doing to my body can't be legal.
"Come on, baby."
When he leans down, gently biting my nipple, I'm lost — again. With one long grunt, Edward joins me, breathing heavily as he flops onto his back. When he scoops me into his arms, I go easily.
"You're amazing, Bella," he says quietly. "After… earlier, you shouldn't have even let me into your apartment, let alone your bed."
"You've done something terrible, but it doesn't define who you are. I know you're not a bad person, Edward," I reply, kissing him gently before I tuck myself back against his side.
I'm nearly asleep when I feel Edward moving.
"Um, much as I'd like to stay here with you, I know I can't. I really do need to go before it gets dark."
And as much as I'd like to keep him, I know he's right. I quickly go into the bathroom to clean up, then put on some clean clothes. When I come out, Edward is dressed, staring at the floor.
"Ready?" I ask quietly.
He nods, heading out into the living room, picking up his gun from where he'd left it on the floor by the couch.
"Will you… come with me?"
I stare open-mouthed before he elaborates, "I don't mean with me… though I'd love to have you. I mean… will you come downstairs with me? Make sure the coast is clear outside?"
"Oh, right… yeah."
Grabbing my keys, I follow Edward out the door and lock up. Together, we walk down the two flights of stairs.
"I'll wait here?"
I nod, walking outside. Looking all around, I don't see even a hint of a cop. There are no sirens, no one on the street.
I can see Edward watching me through a crack in the door, and I motion to him to come out.
"I guess this is goodbye," he says as he gets close to me.
"I guess so."
"I'll come back for you… somehow, some way. I'll come back," he says passionately as he pulls me in for a hug.
"Be safe."
Nodding, he takes a step backwards… then another, then another. Finally, he turns around and I watch as he gets farther and farther away from me.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. Turning, I see a cop walking toward me. "H—hello, officer," I greet him nervously.
But he's not looking at me — he's looking at Edward. "Hey, you up there," he calls. Edward looks over his shoulder and though he's 30 feet away, I can see the panic in his eyes, just before he takes off running.
"Stop, Edward, don't run!" I scream, but it's too late. The officer sprints after him, grabbing his gun from his holster.
"Stop now or I'll shoot!" he yells.
And then I hear the bang of the gun — three times it goes off before Edward crumples to the ground. Screaming, I run towards him as fast as I can. Flipping him over onto his back, I scream at the officer, "Call an ambulance! Now!"
"Edward!" I scream. He's not breathing and I immediately begin CPR. By the time the ambulance arrives, I've got him breathing again. Following him into the ambulance, I sit there in shock as the paramedics do their thing. I'm not particularly religious, but I pray for him nonetheless.
My hospital is the closest one, and we arrive in just over five minutes. "Where's Dr. Cullen?" I yell at the closest nurse as I follow the stretcher into my ER.
"Um, I think he's in Trauma 2."
Slamming open the door, I call for Dr. Cullen, telling him it's an emergency. I'm sure he can tell by the look on my face that I'm not kidding around. He nods to one of the residents to take over what looks like a broken arm and follows me to Trauma 1.
Besides being exhausted, I'm too close to this. I'm afraid I'll be in the way. And so I stand a few feet away, praying as Dr. Cullen works on Edward.
The minutes tick by as they work. When I realize he's regained consciousness, I walk up to the table, smiling at him. I brush his hair back, wishing I could kiss him again.
"Are you all right?" he croaks.
"I'm fine," I nod. "And you're gonna be fine, too. Just hang on. Dr. Cullen is the best there is."
"I love you," he whispers. "Save yourself… promise me… save yourself."
As he closes his eyes, I hear the awful high-pitched beep of the heart monitor — no pulse.
"No!" I scream, beginning CPR. Another nurse brings out the electric paddles to shock him and I reluctantly stand back.
Nothing happens.
She shocks him again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Shaking her head, she stands back. "Time—"
"No!" I shout, "You can't give up!"
I rush back to Edward and begin CPR again. He's not dead. He's not.
I don't know how long I keep trying to revive him before I feel arms around me. "Bella," Dr. Cullen says. "It's over, Bella."
I look up at him, reading the grave look on his face. "Do you want to call it or should I?" he asks.
"I will." Looking up at the clock on the wall, I announce, "Time of death: 19:18."
I continue to stand there staring at Edward's body as the orderlies clean up the trauma room. It's like if I leave the room, it'll be real.
"Bella?" a voice calls tentatively from behind me. "One of the police officers wanted to talk to you."
Nodding, I wipe my eyes and follow the nurse out into the hallway.
"Miss Swan?" a middle-aged man in uniform — not the one who shot Edward — asks. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?"
"The lounge," I reply quietly, turning to walk down the hallway.
Pouring myself a cup of godawful coffee, I take a seat on one of the plastic chairs. Try not to look too nervous, Bella.
"Miss Swan, I know you must've been through quite an ordeal today, but I need to ask you some questions."
I nod. "Ok."
"Witnesses said that Mr. Masen left through the back storage area with you, is that correct?"
"Mr. Masen?"
"Yes, Edward Masen. He was identified by his cousin, James Hunter, after he came out of surgery."
I scoff. Figures James would turn on Edward.
"Yes, he took me when he left," I answer quietly.
"The police canvassed the neighborhood for hours. How did you two manage to stay out of sight for so long?"
"My apartment is in the next building over from the store. We hid in there until he thought the coast was clear."
"You gave him refuge in your apartment?" the cop asks, raising one eyebrow. Shit, I can't implicate myself. There's no way I can go against Edward's dying wish.
"He… he was going to break in to another apartment to hide," I lie. "I didn't want him to hurt anyone else, so I showed him where my apartment was." Please, let him believe me.
"Miss Swan… I hate to ask you this, but… did Mr. Masen… hurt you?"
"What?"
"You two were alone in your apartment for a long time. He didn't violate you in any way?"
"Edward would never hurt me," I reply angrily.
"Edward?"
"I mean… Mr. Masen. The other robber called him Edward, so that's what I got used to calling him in my head." Oh God, I've always been a terrible liar.
"Hmm. Here," he says, handing me a card. "That's it for now, but if you have any additional information, please contact me."
"All right," I reply, breathing a sigh of relief once he leaves the room. I am so tempted to go find James Hunter and strangle the lifeblood out of him… but I won't. Damn Hippocratic Oath.
"I took a leave of absence from the hospital after that night," the old lady continues. "I went to Phoenix to visit my mom for a while. After about four weeks, I went back to work. The first time a patient came in with a gunshot wound, I fainted. I insisted that I was fine, but the doc ran a bunch of tests… and discovered that I was pregnant.
"I quit my job after that, moved back to Phoenix. I was so afraid that someone in Seattle would put two and two together…"
"Mama," Nessie cries, hugging her tightly. "You never told anyone?"
"Not a single soul."
"To go through that all by yourself…"
She shakes her head, shrugging. "I couldn't risk implicating myself. I could've been charged as an accessory or something for hiding him in my apartment."
"All these years… all these years I was pretty certain that… well, that I'd been conceived in rape, and that's why you wouldn't talk about it," Nessie says.
"No, baby girl, not at all. Edward would never, ever have hurt me. I swear to you, Vanessa Elizabeth.
"In my safe deposit box… I saved all of the newspaper articles about the robbery," she continues. "Maybe there's something in there you can use to find your father's family… if—if you want to."
"The family that turned their backs on him? Never. You, my husband and my two babies are the only family I need."
Nessie hugs her mother tightly. "I know it seems crazy, but I did love your father," Bella whispers in her ear.
"I only wish I could've told him. But I know we'll be together again soon. He promised he'd come back for me, but it looks like I'm going to have to go find him myself."
A/N: Shamelessly inspired by one of my favorite ER episodes from 15 years ago. I actually downloaded the episode (dubbed in Polish!) back in January intending to write the story for some sort of one-shot contest, then ended up writing two other fics instead. In retrospect, I guess the angst contest wasn't the best place for this.
I did get one extremely mean, bitchy review on the contest entry from someone who said was "not even remotely sad." Well, CoolKitty, I wish you a big F*** YOU!
If I think back to the fics that have made me cry over the last three and a half years, it would be stories that contain character death, or stories of someone who lives their whole life alone, without their soul mate. This story includes two senseless deaths due to the ready availability of guns, even more poignant after the events in Connecticut yesterday. And there's a Bella who finally meets her soul mate after wasting 10 years with the wrong man, and loses him the very same day. Note the nurse calling her "Miss Swan" at the beginning — she never married. I did shed a tear writing the very last line. If you didn't, that's ok, but please don't be a bitch about it.