AN: It's chapter three!! So soon? I know, aren't I so nice? :P Kidding! Seriously, I like to pretend I'm vain, but I'm not really. :P I promise. I think I had something I wanted to say in this AN, but I totally forget what it was. So I'll just have to settle for thanking all of my AMAZING reviewers once again. I already have almost twenty reviews for just two chapters!! I can't believe it! You guys are prostar. Maybe that IS what I wanted to say. . . Anywho, read on, I hope you enjoy!!

She only looked through my box for a few minutes after she found it, shuffling through my collection of old, crumbling Chicago Herald clippings, not really reading any, but I saw her noticing the dates (1916-1918) and the subject (the Great War). She didn't open any of the journals, which I found curious. Was she. . .respecting my privacy? Or just working herself up to it?

I didn't get the chance to find out the answer to this question that day, though, as after about fifteen minutes, her mother's voice drifted up the stairs "Bella? Could you come and help me with these boxes?"

She sighed, looking slightly annoyed to be pulled away, told her mother she was coming, and then placed everything carefully back in the box, tucking it between her mattress and box-spring before she went down to help her mother.

I shadowed the girl for the rest of the day, but her mother kept her busy for the whole day, and she did not revisit my box at all that day before she fell, looking exhausted, into her bed that night. I did, however, catch her sneaking more glances at my door.

Again, I drifted into her room that night as she slept. She was talking again, and very restless. "Charlie, please?" she begged in her slumber. And "No, it's not because of that at all! I swear, I don't care about it!"

Who was "Charlie"? It sounded like he wasn't very good to her, whoever he was. Her boyfriend? For some reason, the thought of this upset me. Probably just because I didn't like the thought of someone so seemingly innocent being mistreated. That must be it. I'd been brought up to be kind to, to protect women.

I must have felt guilty for my constant watching of the girl, like I was intruding on her privacy, because I drifted out of her room just as the sun started to come up, returning to my piano room. When I got there, I found it wasn't empty.

Very uncharacteristically, my mother was there, floating a few inches off the ground, her back to me, as she stared broodingly out of the window that she couldn't even see through, as the shutters were closed, had been for over eighty years.

She turned around when I came in. I can't say she turned when she heard me, because we make no sound - no sound from movement, anyways - but I guess we can sort of . . . sense the presence of a fellow spirit. I've never needed to, as their thoughts would alert me, but others can.

There had always been, I'd thought, a sort of unspoken agreement between my mother and I. I left her alone, as much as was possible. I didn't follow her, tried to tune out her thoughts. Partly out of respect for her, but also because I knew she was suffering. I cared deeply about my mother, and that's why I tended to distance myself from her. Her suffering hurt me, because I had no way to help her. She didn't like that she was trapped here, but mostly she worried about my being trapped here, which was, of course, the whole reason for her imprisonment in the first place. She also missed my father, missed him terribly. I couldn't do anything about these, so, somewhat cowardly, I mostly tried to tune it, and her, out.

I gave her her space and privacy, and I'd always taken for granted that she awarded me the same courtesy, which was why, when she spoke - in a whisper, as to not disturb the humans - her words surprised me. "Edward, I don't like it."

"Don't like what, Mother?" I was so stunned by her words, that I didn't even think of probing her thoughts for their source. Even now, when it was my fault she was damned to an eternity of nothing, I was used to being her golden boy.

"Your obsession with that Bella girl."

"Obsession, Mother? I'm not obsessed with her! What are you talking about? I just-"

"Following her everywhere? Eavesdropping on her?" Edward, you watch her sleep. You don't call that obsessed? Nothing can come of it Edward."

What? I was very confused. At first I'd thought she was upset for my infringement of the girl's privacy. But no. I probed her thoughts, and realized it. She though I was in love with Bella. "Mother, no. I can't hear her!! I'm curious as to why, that's all. I can't hear her thoughts.

She raised her eyebrows, not expecting this. "But why does it matter, Edward?"

"Well. . ." I replied, not wanting to admit to her the other reason for my interest in Bella, my half-hopes. "It doesn't, I guess. But it's never failed me before. I promise you, though, I do not love her."

"Alright," she agreed in a voice that told me as plainly as her thoughts did that she didn't believe me, and then picked that moment to drift through the wall, signaling the end of that conversation.

Even after my conversation with my mother - which I tried to put out of my head; I was only interested in the mystery of her mind, after all - I still drifted downwards to hover near the ceiling of the kitchen when I heard Bella go downstairs.

As she entered the kitchen - I got there first, thanks to my rather more effective means of locomotion - she slowly and precisely got herself a glass of juice, then stood contemplating it for a moment. Working herself up to something, it looked like, but I had no idea what.

"Dad?" she started.

"Yeah, Bells?"

"Well, I was wondering, do you have, like, a deed, a record or something, that lists the people who owned the house before us? I was just wondering about the history of the house. It's really old, historic, even. I was hoping to find out more about it, you know?" She said all this quickly, in a manner that seemed rehearsed and half-memorized. So she was trying to find out more about me. I smiled.

He contemplated her request for a moment, his thoughts waring between trusting her - which came naturally to him - and stopping her from getting frightened of the house and the rumors that surrounded it, which was important to him. Finally, though, he decided on the former. "All right, if that's all you want it for. There's stuff about the house in the middle drawer on the right-hand side of the desk in my study."

"Thanks Dad," she replied, and, on the surface, her face and voice were carefully composed, disinterested, but it was easy to see the raging curiosity and excitement beneath. She really wasn't that good of an actress.

She quickly downed the rest of her juice, setting her glass on the counter before heading out of the room. Her attempts at hiding her excitement as she walked to her father's study were very unconvincing, but her father, who had turned back to his paper, didn't notice. She was almost running as she rounded the last corner and went through the open door, only stopping when she was right at the desk, kneeling down and opening the drawer her father had mentioned.

She rifled through the contents, but quickly found what she seemed to be looking for and took the papers out, piling everything else back in haphazardly, and shutting the drawer. She then raced back up to her room, attempting - and failing - to be silent as she sped up the stairs.

Once in her room, she shut the door, locking it, and spread the papers out on her desk, while I stationed myself a few feet behind her where I could read them as she did.

The document was entitled a "record of tenants", and I glanced at the first entry on the top page:

Owned by:

2004- : Charles H. Swan and Renee D. Swan

Occupied by:

2004- : Charles H. Swan, Renee D. Swan, and Isabella M. Swan

Charles Swan. "Charlie" was her father! So that's all her dreams had been about last night, trying to get her father to give her the paper that was now on the desk in front of her! For some reason, this made me much happier than it should have.

She was now flipping through the document, until she got to the last entry on the last page, which she stopped at:

Construction:

1899-1901

Owned by:

1901-1918: Edward W. Masen

Occupied by:

1901-1918: Edward W. Masen, Elizabeth E. Masen, and Edward A. Masen

This was it, when she would find out who I was. But then I realized the problem the same time she did. I'd never thought about it before, but my family had three E. Masens in it! Why, oh, why, had I not put my middle initial on those diaries? For some reason, I really wanted her to know it was me.

As I was thinking about this, I realized that Bella had frozen. I circled her, so I could see her face. She was staring at the paper, and I looked too, seeing what was probably the reason for her shock.

Reason for vacating:

Deceased

"They died?" she whispered, not even seeming aware of it.

She got up from her desk then, pacing and muttering to herself. I only caught odd words, like "The War" and "alone". She must be thinking we'd, or my father, at least, had died in the war. Close, but not quite.

She then dropped the papers on her bed, and went to her computer, clicking through a series of menus without seeming to realize what she was doing, until she arrived at the home page for some sort of electronic maps database. "A cemetery," she whispered.

I drifted behind Bella as she walked to Mapledale Presbyterian Cemetery, marvelling at her luck of choosing the right one on the first try.

She seemed surprised when the cemetery first came into view, and I again wondered at her silent thoughts. Was it the size, or the sudden way it seemed to materialize out of the trees? What?

She again seemed surprised as she entered, but this time it was easier to guess at the reason behind her shock. She must be seeing all the identical stones, and wondering why.

She was very methodical in her searching, walking up and down the rows in a zig-zag pattern, reading each stone carefully. With each Influenza stone - each 1918 death, to be precise, as they didn't actually say anything about the influenza - she passed, the confused furrow in her brow grew deeper.

Finally, she reached my grandfather's, William Thomas Masen's, grave. She stopped at this one, and I could hear her heart accelerate, but then her face fell as she saw the full name and the date. Then she moved on to my Grandmother Emma's grave, and finally, my father.

I looked at that stone for a minute with her, wondering for what seemed like the thousandth time where he was now, if he was missing us.

I was pulled back to the present by the clicking of Bella's camera, as she snapped a picture of his stone, then moved on, to be faced by my mother's marker.

This stone, like the sight of my mother, always made me sad and guilty, so I concentrated on Bella's face. The confusion was very evident now, the furrow deeper than ever. "Less than a month apart," she whispered.

Then, finally, she turned to my grave, and her face froze in shock. I knew what she was seeing. June 21, 1901-October 18, 1918. Died the same day as my mother.

She was shocked, almost mechanical, as she took a picture of my stone too, and then abruptly turned, heading back out the gate.

I remained where I was. How much I wanted to be able to tell her everything, I realized as I watched her retreating back. But it wasn't right for me to be involved, complicate Isabella's life, and scare her with my presence.

No, she would find out on her own, maybe care about this for a few more days, and then something else would come up, and she would forget all about the mystery of E. Masen. That was how it should be. So why was I so saddened by the thought?

So, I think I like this chapter. Edward is very fun to write in. Did you guys like Elizabeth's appearance? I hope I did an okay job with their relationship. . .

So, I hope you guys liked this, and........ please continue to rrrrrrrrrrrreview!!! They make me very happy, and encourage me to continue to update quickly(hint, hint)! :D

-SkySong