Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. I own a great many triumphs and failures.

Thank you to my darlings: AmeliaKBedelia, darcysmom and Marlena516. I love you dearly.

So this is a little gift for my faithful readers—something to tide you over while you ponder how Bella feels on the other side of the change. The events in this outtake occur after Edward's visit to Angela in chapter 11 of Shelter. Please read that first, or you'll be mightily confused.

Suggested listening:
"Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers
"Angie" by Tori Amos
"My Secret Origin" by Ookla the Mok

Outtake - Angie

Angie, You're beautiful
But ain't it time we said goodbye
Angie, I still love you
Remember all those nights we cried?
All the dreams we held so close
Seemed to all go up in smoke
Let me whisper in your ear
Angie, Angie
Where will it lead us from here?

I hate that sadness in your eyes
But Angie, Angie
Ain't it time we said goodbye?

"Angie" - Tori Amos

Angela

I'm a ghost. I'm vapor. I'm dust. Insubstantial as a cloud.

I try to key the total into the register, but my fingers keep slipping, sweaty hands sounding discordant blips and beeps that raise the hair on my arms.

"Okay, that's twenty-six dollars. No—wait—um. . ." I look at the small coffee and bagel I just handed the Steve Buscemi lookalike across the counter and realize that can't possibly be right.

"Sorry."

My shaking hand slips and slides across the keys again, and I feel slightly better about this next total. At least it's in the ballpark.

"Four-fifty, sir."

He hands me a five with a condescending smile and says, "First day, huh?"

I don't answer as I return his change, and another customer in the endless line takes his place. I would usually tell Spencer to call for extra help since we're a person short, but I have to act like everything is normal. I have to pretend we'll see Bella walking through that door any minute now—apologizing for being late, grumbling about the annoying thing that held her up. My breath hitches, and I fight back tears.

Oh God, where is Bella? What happened? Why couldn't she come to me herself?

I keep picturing Bella's face as I left last night. Everything was fine. I waved goodbye from the door, and her eyes flicked to mine, taking a momentary pause from her near-constant appraisal of Edward. She smiled and said, "See you later," glowing with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they belong. As I turned away—not knowing it would be my last glimpse of my best friend—I knew that it wasn't a where, but a who that made her feel that way. I thought about how quickly things had developed between Bella and Edward. They'd become inseparable—like a vine wrapped around a picket fence, woven so tightly you'd have to unearth the plant and tear the fence down to get them apart.

But that was yesterday.

Today I'm left wondering if the vine is even a vine anymore.

I stuff my rising panic down and ask the next woman in line how I can help her. As the day wears on and Bella's figure remains as elusive as a lost memory, nobody asks how they can help me.

"What do you mean, we have to lie?"

"Just what I said. We can't tell them Edward's real name."

I'm trying to get this out as quickly as I can, because if I stop to think about what I'm saying, I know the iron grip I've had on my emotions since Edward knocked on my door this morning is finally going to break. Spencer's incredulous expression is throwing me off. I've managed to keep this secret from him all day, but I need his help now. I can't do this alone. I turn away, and my eyes land on Bella's paperback copy of The Gravedigger's Daughter folded over the arm the couch, its spine bent and broken.

Oh, God.

"What are you talking about, Ang? We can't lie to the police! If you know where Bella is, why are we calling them at all?"

"I don't know where she is!" I say, spinning back to face him. "I just know that she's safe."

"Okay, if she's safe, why are we calling them?"

"We're calling them because we have to report her missing. We have to act like we don't know anything."

"But why? I don't understand."

Neither do I! I want to scream. God, this is impossible!

For the millionth time today, I want to kill Edward Cullen. Why couldn't he have given me something—anything—to work with? Why the secrecy? The more I think about his cryptic half-answers and bullshit explanations, the more I want to break his beautiful face. I'm covering for him, but what do I really know? I list the facts that I have:

Something happened.

It was bad, but Bella's going to be okay. Probably.

She's going to be different.

Nobody can know—or some bad people will hurt me.

I'm never going to see my best friend again.

Spencer's face blurs as my tears begin to fall. They've started now, and I don't know how I'm ever going to get them to stop.

"Oh, Angie, shhhh . . . don't cry. We'll figure this out." He wraps me in his arms and pulls me down onto the couch with him. We're a jumble of limbs—long skinny legs tangled like an octopus.

"What am I going to do, Spence?" I sob. "She's my best friend. How can she just leave me?"

It's so selfish to be worried about me right now, but I can't help it. In so many ways, Bella is my other half. She's the sister I never had. She's midnight Madonna dance parties and spoonfuls of Nutella at breakfast and secret Gossip Girl obsessions. She's heartbreak-healing empathy, endless-crying comforting, golden sunlight and unconditional love. And now she's gone, and there's nothing I can do.

Nothing except help her, I amend.

I know she loves Edward, even if she won't admit it. I know she wants to be with him. So if they need me to do this for them, I just have to suck it up and get it right. I owe it to her. I wipe my tear-streaked face and take a deep, steadying breath.

"Spence, I need you to keep an open mind. I need you to think Stan Lee and Chris Carter and Joss Whedon. What we're dealing with here requires a leap of faith."

"You want me to think about Spider Man and The X-Files?"

"Not specifically. I want you to think about magic and myths and unexplainable things."

"Okay . . ." he drawls, and I feel the ridiculousness of the request in the tips of my cold fingers.

"How can I say this in a way you'll understand?" I finger the collar of his striped cotton shirt and note he's wearing scarlet and gold—Gryffindor colors. I could use some bravery now. "If Bella were a comic book character, who would she be?"

"D.C. or Marvel?"

"Spencer!"

"Okay, okay. Um, I guess Lois Lane. Or Mary Jane Watson."

"Why?"

He answers with the ease of a professor discussing his current research project. "Well, Lois is completely driven by her career, and Bella has that same intensity when she puts her mind to something. But she also has the whole girl-next-door innocence, like MJ."

"And these are both run-of-the-mill human girls, right? No superpowers."

"Yeah, sure."

"And what about Edward?"

"Hmm. . . Batman: rich, intense, remote. No, no, I take it back. He'd be Dream of the Endless. Dream's driven by love, though he tries to hide it."

"So, broody and powerful and romantic?"

"Yeah."

This is going as well as I could have hoped. He's definitely running with the comic book metaphor. Now comes the tricky part.

"What if I told you that you weren't far off?" I avoid his gaze as I ask, hoping he won't read the uncertainty in my eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"What if I told you Edward was something . . . other? Something different?"

"Like a Mormon?"

"No, Spence! Like one of your comic book characters! Something mystical or magical or just plain alien."

"I'd say you have a good imagination. Hey, is this about me asking him to Comic-Con?"

He smiles like it's all some big joke, and I deflate. I should have known he wouldn't believe me—it's crazy—but that doesn't keep me from wishing he would.

"I'm serious, Spencer. Please."

He looks properly chagrined, or at least willing to listen, and I remember all over again why I'm falling for this guy. Ben would have shut me down long before now, if he even bothered picking up the phone in the first place. It gives me hope I might still get through to Spence. But comic books aren't working. Maybe it would be better to go the empirical route, provide him with some evidence.

"Think about it—have you ever gotten a really good look at him? How his skin is so pale he could pass for a CSI extra? How his eyes seem to change color? How he never eats anything, and that coffee cup on his table in the shop stays full all day long, like a prop?"

"Ang, even if those things were indicative of Edward being some kind of alien or otherworldly creature—and I'm not saying they are—what does any of this have to do with Bella and the police?"

"Edward came to me this morning. He told me something had happened to Bella, and now she's going to be 'different' like him."

He looks at me like I'm losing my mind, and for a second I wonder if he's right. Have I bought the lie? Has Edward done something terrible to Bella, and all of this is a clever way to help him get away with it? Have I already given him an unimaginable head start? My stomach twists horribly, and I'm suddenly thankful I haven't had anything to eat today.

I'm just about to leap up and call the police in earnest—tell them the whole sordid story—but something stops me, and I remember what I told Bella about the Cullens just two weeks ago: It's like they were all playing a role. I remember high school. I remember that Edward's adopted family all has that same pale skin, those mercurial eyes. And I know I'm not wrong. I know the truth was hiding in plain sight all along. The Cullens are different. Now Bella's one of them.

With renewed assurance, I tell Spencer what I know. "You didn't see them in school, Spencer—Edward and his siblings. They were all like him. How many people have you ever met that have movie-star looks, albino skin, and golden eyes? They weren't related by blood, but they were all the same!

"Let me show you!" I leap up and run to my room, grabbing my junior yearbook from the shelf.

I drop it on his lap and page through it upside down, knowing exactly where I'll find what I need. I was the one who took this photo, after all, snapping the shot in a rare moment of bravery, feeling the icy gaze of my subjects on my back long after I'd turned and replaced my camera's lens cap. There amid the senior candids is a picture so disjointed from the others, it looks like it was taken from a magazine and pasted into the roughly collaged pages of the Forks High annual. Awkward smiles, pimply cheeks, and embarrassing hairstyles are absent from the glossy, full-color shot in the center of the page. The five people lounging around a solitary table at the end of the lunchroom look like they're taking a break from a Calvin Klein photo shoot, not waiting for the fifth period bell to ring.

"Look!" I jab my finger down. "Look! Do these people look like normal high school kids to you?"

For an eternity, Spencer stares at the page, the reflection from his glasses making his face owlish and unreadable. I twist my fingers together, praying he believes me, praying I don't have to bear this burden on my own.

Silence reigns until the only sound is my rough breathing, growing evermore shallow and nervous. At last, he speaks.

"So, you think Bella's going to be like this now?"

"Yes." My voice is a whisper, a gossamer thread of hope.

Spencer raises his gaze, and at last I can see beyond the glare of his lenses to the love and faith shining through.

"Well, let's make that call. What's Edward's name supposed to be, again?"

Hope you enjoyed it. I'll post the next chapter of Shelter on Monday, as usual.

Story Recommendation: "The Blessing and the Curse" by The Black Arrow - This story has been around for a while, so if you haven't read get to it! Heart-breaking, lyrical, lovely. It's painful in the most delicious way. Edward and Bella were meant for each other, slung together since birth. And he has used his ability to read her mind in the cruelest and most wonderful ways. I pay homage to the story with Bella's abandoned paperback - reference to a scene in TB&TC that had me sobbing like a baby. Go read it!