disclaimer: as much as I wish it had worked out differently, Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and all the characters, belong to Stephenie Meyer.

(shinyblackshoes)

I was walking. Slow, human walking. Trying to think, hoping that I wasn't looking for the wrong girl. Hoping the right girl wasn't dead. Hoping.

At least a body hadn't been found. There was hope in that, right?

A woman in an ugly red hat, with sunglasses too big for her face, in the middle of the night, drawing by the light of a streetlamp. Sitting on the curb, directly ahead of her, in the alleyway between an old movie theatre and a rundown restaurant across the street, was a man in worn out clothing that might have been formal at some point, and just looked sorry now. Clutched in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest as he slept on the cold cement, was a pair of shiny black shoes. New, maybe. Or extremely well kept.

I looked back at the woman again; she appeared to be sketching the scene down in her pad. A man came up behind her, he wore black clothing clearly of designer origins, and he looked at the pencil drawing and kneeled down to whisper something in her ear, "Your place in twenty minutes?" I looked into his head, and saw nothing but intense focus on the woman in the oversized sunglasses and ugly hat. I got the impression both accessories were common on the woman.

She nodded, but did not look away from the man with the shiny shoes.

I was curious about the exchange, but I had no time for curiosity. There was a missing person to find, and my existence depended on finding her.

I couldn't live with her dead. Maybe if I was destroyed, then the pain would end.

Maybes. That's all I had.

So I walked.

He was sitting on a bench facing the water. Slouched low down in his seat. Snoring and asleep. I sat down noiselessly beside him and nudged him a little harder then I meant to. He snorted and jumped in surprise, looking at me with terrified eyes. I saw myself in his head. I looked like hell. The circles under my eyes were black and my skin was white as a sheet of clean paper, glowing in the darkness. My eyes were as black as pitch.

"Hello." I said, trying to sound as pleasant as possible. He muttered the same greeting back. "I hear you have some information for me."

"Y-you're Edward Cullen?" I nodded.

"What do you know about Lauren Mallory?"

(Nine months)

Nine months. What happens in nine months? People can bring new people into the world in nine months, they can almost complete a year's education in nine months.. Can they move on in nine months?

What happens in nine months? Where are they after nine months? Are they exactly where you left them after nine months?

Where is she now? After that last day, the last day I saw her, where did she go? Has she moved on? To Mike Newtons and Tyler Crowleys? Where is she now?

All I can hope for is that she's still somewhere where she can consider taking me back. Or at least, not too far away.

Nine months alone, in a self-imposed prison. Living in an attic above a kitchen reeking of sweat and grease somewhere in the Philippines. I'm still where I was nine months ago.

Vampires don't move on. I can't stop thinking about her.

Or the reasons why I had to leave.

I wonder if I'll regret coming back, if she takes me back, will I be the death of her? Will I kill her, if not directly, than by some sort of association? And if she doesn't want me, then will I regret knowing? What will I do then?

I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to calm my thoughts. Trying not to think at all. Thinking didn't seem to be helping much. I want to focus on the road, but my mind keeps wandering into the depths of depression.

I turn the car stereo up, trying to drown them out. It helps at first, but not for long enough.

Finally, I see the driveway. I pull into the parking space where Bella's truck normally is. Where is it? It's five in the morning on a Thursday, but there are thousands of explanations. Charlie's up. I can hear him moving around inside the house, his thoughts empty with drowsiness. He's getting ready for work.

I don't want to go through Charlie, I want to climb into her room through her window and watch her sleep for a little while. See her, actually see her, but how would she take it, if I suddenly appeared in her rocking chair?

I knock on the door. Charlie wonders who it is, at this time in the morning, and approaches the door with his loud footsteps. I hear him unlocking the door and watch his face as he sees me behind it. There is an initial and long moment of silence. He looks older and greyer than when I last saw him.

"Hello," I said, then wanted to ask to see Bella, but the look on his face... his thoughts are a tangled mess. He's having a hard time forming a coherent thought.

"Edward Cullen?" he asks in plain disbelief. A rush of thoughts fills his head. Bella and me. Painful memories of us together and I can sense a feeling of regret in his thoughts. Then there is anger. How dare I show up on his doorstep? How dare I think of coming back, after all that had happened!

What? I want to ask, what happened?

"What are you doing here?" he asks, trying to sound like a police chief and failing one hundred percent.

"Is Bella home?" I asked. A flash of images appeared in his mind, people searching, and Bella's empty room. Renee crying.

"No." he said, quietly, sombrely.

"Where is she?" I asked, though not expecting a clear answer to come from him. At least not verbally.

"She's gone." there was a tone of finality in his voice, and I could feel the fear sprout in my stomach. His thoughts were useless. He was just angry.

"Where?" I persisted. "I need to see her."

"I told you. She's gone." he emphasized angrily. He hated that I was pushing him. It hurt him. Then there was a flash of memories in his mind. A casket, a funeral service. I nearly collapsed under the weight of the memories.

"Oh." I said, finally. A minute had passed, he had been thinking about the funeral, and I had just been staring at him, just as absent as he was.

I left him just standing there. I got into my car and I drove.

I had to see for myself. I wouldn't believe it until I saw it. I parked and was heading down the rows in seconds. And there it was. A headstone with her name on it. Isabella Marie Swan.

(To disappear)

His name was Robert Gibson. He was the owner of a restaurant just inside the Canadian border. He was in Vancouver on business when I found him, so I came here to set up a meeting. Something quick and informal. Apparently a dark haired girl named Lauren Mallory had worked there for a few months, "she didn't have any papers or an ID. No social insurance number or nothing, but she said she needed the money." he said, "and I was short staffed so's I couldn't really be choosey, eh?"

"How did you pay her?" I wasn't hopeful asking this question. She wouldn't have direct deposit; I doubted she had a bank account.

"Cash." Great.

"Did you know where she went after she left?"

"No, she didn't say anything. North, maybe. I got the impression she was running away from something." I felt my stomach turn. Running away. "I knew she'd come from America, so unless she went back... It makes sense though, eh? That she'd go in the opposite direction?" I just nodded and stood up. He hadn't been any help. As I walked away, I heard him say something from over my shoulder, "You won't tell anyone, will yeh? I don't want to get in trouble for helpin' her."

I didn't bother to answer.

(a/n. Arg. I hate this site. I can't seem to format it the way I want ever. Stupid little restrictions they have for everything. It really looks so much better in Word. This is just a thought I had for a story. If you don't think it'll make for a story, be honest and let me know. I have two other stories on the go and I was just wondering if this one was worth pursuing. The lack of capitals is intended. The middle section is just a flash back, I think there would be on in every chapter posted until we caught up with where the story starts with him talking to Robert. Suggestions, comments? Please review, like actual, real reviews. Not just a three word blurb. A sentence at the very, very least. "I loved it." is nice, but it doesn't help. It takes up space in my inbox and really doesn't mean anything until I know why you loved it. Also, don't be afraid to tell me you hated it, just let me know why and how you think I could have improved it. If you have trouble with this, I have some questions for you to answer:

1. Is this story worth pursuing, do you think it has any potential? Why or why not?

2. Should I right this story, even though I already have two unfinished in the works?

3. Do you like the idea of flashbacks? Why or why not?

4. Do you mind the lack of capitals at the beginning of sentences? Why or why not? (ignore)

5. How do you feel about Charlie's response to Edward's appearance?

6. Is Edward in character? If not, why do you feel that way?

7. Where do you think Bella is? Or is she even alive?

8. Did you see any grammar flaws? Where are they?

Eight questions. You don't have to answer all of them if you don't want, pick one or two or think up your own. I can think of a hundred I still want to ask you. Just give me some quality reviews. Oh.. and Lauren's last name is Mallory, right? I would check, but my book isn't on me.

Please and thank you,

suddenmuse)

(edit: Fixed a few things, decided to use capitals again. If I missed anything, let me know. Yeah. Not much else to say...)