As soon as I entered the house I knew something was different. The general aura of the place was definitely changed, though what exactly was different eluded me at present. I had ambled home in a state of absent-mindedness and ethereal exultation, and the severe guilt I had felt previously at taking something that did not belong to me had all but vanished. It was still present, of course, but I did not feel it so much now; so much that I taken it in and out of my pocket, placing it on the counter, and then regaining it repeatedly. This process had gone on for several minutes, until I had realised I simply could not bear to part with it, and knew that if I did, I would surely lose the one part of the woman I loved forever. Thus, I had secured it in my pocket and began the journey home.

Now in the living room of my house, I searched for Esme and Carlisle. I still knew something was the matter, but still did not have a clue what it could be. I walked through the double French doors and out onto the patio, greeting my parents with a wave and a smile, and they inquired about my day. I replied in the same manner that I always did, commenting on various customers and purchases, and the plights the weather had brought me that day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary then, nothing indicated the abnormality I had sensed upon arrival; nothing.

"And where is Rosalie?" I asked Carlisle – who had come home an hour before me and left me to close up – curiously. The manner in which he replied was a little too casual, a little too strange for the protocol of normality, and I was instantly unsettled.

"She's gone out to hunt."

There. That was it. The thing I had sensed right from the beginning, as soon as I entered the house – right there. There was no way Rosalie could be hunting now. It did not abide by the normal routine of her hunts, and Rosalie never broke routine. A stab of panic shot through me and I turned, with a mumbled "excuse me" to my parents, and ran through the doors, upstairs and into my room in a second. On my bed that I never used, sealed in a white envelope and addressed to me in tiny, elegant script, was the tangible evidence of my unease. Right there.

I crossed the room, slowly for me, and carefully picked the letter up off the bed, reading my name on the front repeatedly for some reason. After going over each curly letter a multitude of times, I turned it over and broke the seal. My dread rising with each second, I began to read:

Edward,

I don't know why I left this note, nor do I know the reason why I left, but here it is. I know about your Isabella. I know how you feel about her, and I can only assume she feels the same way about you. I know that she is the reason for your constant exultation, and I know that the only reason you are happy about your job is the fact that Isabella is there.

Over the past few weeks I have been noticing strange things about your behaviour. Small things, but for someone who has had two years of being your "mate", a certain attentiveness has arisen inside me, one which I felt the need to call upon recently. The moment I saw that smile on your face - the one so alive, so joyous - I knew something had happened. And I knew I wasn't going to like it.

My fears only grew stronger with each day. Up until a few days ago, I had not known the true cause of your exuberance; I merely assumed something. But then one day it all became too much for me. The thought of something making you so unbelievably happy, and I not knowing what it was - in addition to the sick feeling of dread I experienced whenever I thought of it - became too alluring. So one day I followed you to work. It was a miracle you did not notice me - but then, your thoughts were probably elsewhere, weren't they?

I hid and kept an eye out for anything that would trigger your happiness and thus reveal itself as the cause of both your jubilation and my unease. I did not wait for long. The smile I saw spread across your face the moment Isabella walked into the clinic was simply unbelievable. It was one of pure euphoria, of relief - and of love. And I instantly knew.

I cannot pretend that I wasn't shocked. That would be a lie. But, for some reason, a part of me almost expected it. Two years living with me and assuming the role of my mate and partner would surely have had something to do with this. Of course, I had no idea that our loveless correlation would have led to this, but still...

I suppose what I'm trying to say, is that I don't blame you. I would have been insane to think that you had any obligation to love me when it was so clear to both of us that it would never work out. Naturally, one's attention wanders. The heart wanders. That your heart and attention had managed to wander and fixate itself onto Isabella is something I certainly can't blame you for.

Your infatuation with the woman - something that started out as a mere pique of your interest, slowly escalating into that of true love - finally reached a point where it was physically painful for me to think of it. I could not go on living like this anymore, lying to myself feebly that you really did love me and what I was witnessing was not real. So I have gone. Where, exactly, I do not know, but I know that I cannot stay with you a moment longer.

I suppose I am off to find someone who actually loves me. Really and truly loves me. The kind of love you feel for your Isabella. I want to find that, I think. Whether or not I will is a different matter, but for now that is another one of the reasons I have left.

Tell Carlisle and Esme...I don't know. You'll think of something, I'm sure. Don't show them this letter; I have intended it for your eyes only and I trust you will respect that. But tell them, at least, that I am sorry.

I don't know if I should apologise to you for leaving, Edward. I think of everything that's happened, both now and over the last two years, and I don't feel an apology is necessary. So I think I will just say goodbye.

I mentioned before that I didn't blame you for falling in love with Isabella, and this is still true. But do I hate you for it? I do not know. I suppose time will tell.

Your sister,

Rosalie.

I finished the letter; it was now that I realised I had been absent-mindedly fumbling with the necklace the whole time.

So Rosalie had known all along. I couldn't say I was particularly surprised; I had sensed it early on. Nonetheless, the fact that Rosalie's knowledge of my infatuation with Bella was so vast was something I never expected. It was so powerful that it provoked her to ultimately leave the house – leave my life. The idea made me tingle.

I reread the letter and felt a curious sort of release flow through me when I did. I didn't know why; perhaps it was because I knew that everything was out in the open now? Or maybe, selfishly, it was due to the fact that Rosalie did not possess any sort of censure towards me. Whatever the reason, I felt infinitely better as soon as I finished the last word of the letter, and immediately reread it afterwards.

This letter was, in most ways, a physical manifestation of the truth of mine and Rosalie's relationship. It expressed everything that we had been feeling, witnessing and believing for the past two years and it felt odd to have it here, in writing, tangible. The final words were further evidence of this: Your sister, Rosalie. Not Your mate, or simply just Rosalie, but Your sister. Sister. This was the final proof that our relationship had ended, that we had both come to our senses and realised, and expressed aloud, the fact that there was no real love between us; platonic love, certainly, but nothing more. The words finalised the realisation, and I felt content as I reread them for a fourth time.

With mine and Rosalie's relationship now with a strong borderline around it, encasing it in the realm of sibling love, I focused my attention on the other, smaller parts of the letter. Two words caught my eye and held my interest. I stared harder at them, bringing the paper closer to my face as if I had trouble reading them – but of course that was impossible. The phrase had been mentioned only twice in the letter, but even so, it had made me feel warmer than I had in seventeen years.

Your Isabella.

The significance of these two words, to me, was staggering. They stood out from the rest of the letter, as if glowing or written in some fluorescent colour. They struck me, with a force akin to that if I were abruptly hit across the face. The first time I'd read them, a feeling so delightful and overwhelming had washed over me, and I'd had to stop reading momentarily to compose myself. The second time, the feeling had hit me again, but that time there was a new edge to it that was not there before; familiarity.

The fact that Rosalie had addressed Bella, the object of my affection and the object of her distaste, as your Isabella was unfathomable. And not just the fact that she had used her full name, Isabella, but the fact that that one, tiny word had been put before it so boldly. If those four letters were not there prefixing her name then I might not have been so overwhelmed. If it was simply just Isabella, then all of my otherworldly emotion might have been saved.

Your Isabella. My Isabella. Mine. Not simply Isabella or Jacob's Isabella – but of course Rosalie had not known about Bella's marriage to Jacob, otherwise she would not have written it – but your Isabella; that is to say, my Isabella. That Bella had been classified as mine – and by Rosalie, of all people - was too incredible. Perhaps she had assumed that some sort of physical affair had been going on between us, and hence classifying Bella as mine? Or maybe she had thought that I would have preferred Bella to be called by her full name, and with a single word of identification before it.

Whatever the reason, it did nothing to stop the flow of emotions course through me the moment I'd read those words. The first time I had, it was like a hidden piece of knowledge had suddenly made itself known, and the epiphany that followed had brought about new understanding within me. The second time, it was as if I was going over something I already knew; the fact that Bella was mine. Like some private joke with myself had just been triggered, and for the rest of the letter I had been smiling and laughing mentally at the gag due to that.

And it was true, in most respects. Albeit Bella was indeed married to Jacob – a thought that made me shudder with disgust – and, I supposed, she loved him as any other wife would; but for the moment, and in my own mind, Bella was mine. Born from my own delusions, and now confirmed and justified by the small, cursive writing on the paper was that Isabella Swan was, in fact, mine.

I smiled to myself.

I stood motionless in the room, still clutching the letter and hardly breathing. My mind had been mulling over everything I had just learnt and for a while I stared into space, processing it all. Suddenly, I remembered Rosalie's only request to me: Don't show them this letter; I have intended it for your eyes only and I trust you will respect that.

I would respect that. I thought of several ways to deceive my parents, and for a while my mind swirled with loathing for what I had to do. I hated lying to Carlisle and Esme, on any accounts, but it was only intensified by the fact that I was lying to them about the motive of Rosalie's departure – me. But then Rosalie's request came back to me and I pushed the hate away. If Rosalie desired I deceive Carlisle and Esme, after everything I had inflicted upon her, how could I begrudge her that? I could not.

A sudden solution came to mind, and I hastily burst into action. I snatched up a pen and paper from my desk and began to write. It was difficult to forge Rosalie's frustratingly curly script, but in the end I thought I had managed well enough. I reread the forged letter addressed to me and made sure everything was right.

Edward,

I don't really know why I have left, but I hope in time you will learn to accept the motives behind my actions. I cannot stay with any of you a moment longer. Do not take it personally - I do not mean to have you think I left because I dislike you. That isn't true. I love you all. But I guess, in some respects, I thought I didn't belong within this family anymore. You, Edward, and Carlisle and Esme have always made me feel welcome and truly a part of your family, in most respects, I suppose. Nonetheless, I felt the need to leave and...How should I put this? Explore. I wanted to know the world, roam it in greater depth than I had when travelling with you and Carlisle and Esme. I know this isn't a very good explanation of my motives behind leaving, but I hope it will become clear to you later.

Give my love to Carlisle and Esme, and tell them I am sorry.

Rosalie.

I thought it was adequate. I resisted the urge to add, your sister before Rosalie's name – it was not my place to do such a thing. I honoured both of her requests in this forged letter, and I felt that my parents would buy it. It would break their poor, lifeless hearts to learn of it – the loathing rose again – but I was determined to carry out this one appeal from Rosalie.

I reread the letter again, sealed it in another envelope, and took a deep breath before commencing downstairs to show my parents. I left the real letter in my desk drawer.

Carlisle and Esme were still seated outside on the patio. I listened to their thoughts as I approached; neither of them appeared to be unsettled by my odd behaviour only half an hour previously. They were having a quiet conversation about hunting, and the best possible spots to find animals. For a second I hesitated, not willing to disrupt their conversation. But then my duty to Rosalie made itself known again in my mind, and I pushed on. I approached, and my parents turned; they stopped talking immediately when they saw the look on my face.

I sighed and held the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger for a fraction of a second before speaking.

"Rosalie isn't hunting."

Confusion flashed across both their faces, and they both sent an inquisitive thought to me. I sighed again.

"She's gone. She...she left this letter for me before she did."

Concern and horror sparked in Esme's eyes. Her first daughter, gone. Left. It made me ache to see her this way. The hurt intensified when I remembered that I was the motive for all of this.

But...why? Carlisle's shock was also evident in his thoughts. I produced the letter from my pocket and answered his question aloud.

"She gives us her motives in the letter, but they are unclear." My low voice surprised even me with its affliction. I began to draw closer to my parents, but then I stopped.

I whispered, "She wants you both to know that she's sorry. She...she loves you both."

Esme's shoulders shook, and for a moment I was confused. Then, I realised – she wanted to cry.

Ah, how I hated myself in this moment.

I proceeded forward and held out the letter to Carlisle. He read it, his eyes moving quickly and the crease between his eyes deepening with every second. Esme read over his shoulder. They both concluded and looked up, shocked. Esme's shoulders were now a continuous tremble; it was she who spoke first.

"She doesn't think she belongs in this family?" Esme whispered, her voice breaking with hurt and incredulity. "H-How can she think that?"

Carlisle's arm curled around her shoulders in a comforting embrace. His thoughts were buzzing, but he seemed to make sense of it all.
"Now, now, my dear," he began in a soothing tone, "I'm sure Rosalie feels as part of this family as any other Cullen. But she said it herself, she feels the need to explore, get away from this place. We – I, more than anyone – cannot force her to stay with us if she does not wish it. We turned her into something she resents, and her eventual departure was obvious anyway, even from the start. She owes us no obligation."

Esme nodded, but her shoulders did not rest.

Oh, my poor Rosalie. I do hope she is okay...

Esme's continuous thoughts of concern for her only daughter were beginning to make me uncomfortable, to the point where I could not bear to look at her anymore. I focused on Carlisle.

It's for the best, I'm sure. Rosalie will be fine, and I suppose she can always contact us if she wants to...if she is ever in danger...

Something told me we wouldn't be hearing from Rosalie for a while – if not ever. The self-loathing strengthened; I needed a distraction.

"I'm going out to hunt," I informed them softly. It struck me now how convenient the prospect of hunting was. At first it served only as a distraction from my parent's woe, but I now realised how thirsty I really was. I swallowed and felt the familiar burn in the back of my throat – I thought of Bella.

Carlisle acquiesced to my intentions, and he warned me to be careful wordlessly, leaving me in peace after he had done so. I smiled sadly at Esme, nodded once to Carlisle, and made my way out and on towards the forest.

I ran with inhuman speed, giving myself over to my senses and searching for the delicate scent of some animal I could hunt. The moon shone down and illuminated the path I ran along, covering everything with a soft, silver glow. As I ran, I half-expected Bella's scent to make itself obvious at any moment. It was a stupid desire, and I found myself laughing hysterically at myself; the wind caught my mirth and scattered it throughout the forest, echoing.

I caught the scent of a bear and several elk in the distance. I burst forward, the thirst for blood pulling me along and guiding me to the sweet sustenance. After breathing and tasting werewolf on the back of my tongue for weeks, it felt pleasant to have a familiar, appetising flavour in my mouth. I attacked the animals with speed and precision, draining them of their blood and being careful not to get any on my clothes. I realised Bella's necklace was still in my pocket; it seemed I went everywhere with it now.

I finished the hunt, satisfied with what blood I had found, and returned home to wait for tomorrow and my job. My parents seemed less shocked and dismayed than before, and had regained most of their equanimity. I gave Esme a hug before retreating upstairs to my bedroom and occupying myself with a novel.

I opened my desk drawer and checked that the real letter was still there. God forbid Carlisle or Esme to venture up here and find it! My hand twitched towards the necklace in my pocket again, and I hastily shut the drawer, ridding myself of the sight of the letter. It was starting to interfere with my sanity.

Sighing, I returned to my book and tried to concentrate. I had to resist the urge to look up at the window every five minutes, as I waited anxiously for first light.

_____________________________**************____________________________

Sunrise, though I had been expecting and desiring it for the last seven hours, still brought a pang of annoyance and frustration that I had to conceal myself for risk of exposure. I dressed quickly and put the hood up on my jacket, deciding I would pose as another freezing member of the townsfolk for the day. It would bother me to have to hide every part of my skin from the threatening glare, but in the end I knew it was vital. It was not as if I could just stay at home for the whole day, cooped up inside and hiding from the sun, and miss my work. Work, I thought with satisfaction, meant Bella.

Grinning to myself in spite of the weather, I descended the stairs and found my parents. Esme was in the kitchen, reading; Carlisle in his study, brushing up on some of his medical knowledge.

I checked the clock – seven thirty. Carlisle had instructed me, after last night's occurrences involving Rosalie had settled, to go to work earlier than usual and open up. Although Esme was definitely better than before, it still distressed Carlisle to see his mate so unsettled, and he had felt it necessary to stay with her for a few more hours before joining me at work. I'd understood completely, and concurred.

I stopped in the doorway on my way out, as Esme wished to speak to me. I raised my eyebrows inquisitively and waited for her to speak.

How are you, Edward?

I considered this for a second. In truth, I was very nearly bouncing off the walls, I was so ecstatic. Not because Rosalie had left, but because I had the peace of mind of knowing that Rosalie and I hid no secrets from each other anymore. The manner in which we had left our relationship – or rather, Rosalie had – brought new understandings and a mutual sort of acceptance amongst us that was not there before. There was, however, the matter of where Rosalie had gone and what she was doing, and what she thought of me now. She had said that she did not know if she hated me yet; not that I would blame her for doing so, but still...

Of course, I could not tell Esme any of this, so I hastened to form an answer that was plausible, but not so stretched from the truth.

"I'm doing alright, I suppose, all things considered," I replied, smiling faintly. Esme nodded and took a few steps forward.

"I thought you would have taken it the hardest, Edward. Rosalie leaving..." she trailed off thoughtfully, shaking her head with her eyes to the floor. Then, "It would have changed your love for each other, wouldn't it, Edward?"

I fought a laugh. Oh, Esme, you have no idea...

I tried to remain casual and indifferent as I said, "I suppose it has changed...a little bit."

Oh, the irony!

Esme nodded and told me, through thought that I should probably be getting off to work. I smiled and agreed, and bade her farewell.

As I made my way to the medical clinic, something occurred to me that I had not thought of before. It struck me suddenly, like the sting of some insect, and my eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

What would Bella think?

I had told Bella about Rosalie very briefly in passing during one of our numerous conversations at the clinic. After she had established that she was married, I felt it necessary to state my relationship status; hence, Bella had learnt of mine and Rosalie's affiliation. I was careful not to use the word married.

Her reaction to the news was, as mine was, slightly disappointed. Her eyes had been towards the floor the whole time after my little revelation and her responses to my questions less than wholehearted. While I disliked seeing her sad, I'd still felt some measure of glee that she was sad about my already having a relationship with another woman. As with Jacob, we hardly, if not never, mentioned the subject of my 'partner' again.

Rosalie's departure from mine and my family's lives would soon reach Bella's ears, I was sure of it. I had absolutely no idea how she would react to the news, but something told me that she was going to be a little less disappointed than what a regular 'friend' would be. I smiled to myself on the way to my work, and thought this reaction very pleasant. But I would have to wait until Bella came today for the real thing.

Once inside the clinic, I turned the heating on. Not that I needed it, but I thought Bella would want it when she came. And also, I didn't think it normal for a freezing human to leave the heating off on this cold, winter's morning, as that was the role I was playing for today. I pinned the dreaded name tag to my front, though I didn't know why I needed it. Bella already knew my name, and it was not as if I cared about any of the other customers enough to make their acquaintance.

The morning passed in the usual fashion – a plethora of abhorrent customers arriving and purchasing their goods, complaining and yelling at me for some unjust reason, the little bell above the door an anthem to their obnoxiousness. It neared half past twelve now, and I was highly strung with anticipation and impatience for Bella to come. I knew she arrived around this time, so my senses were extra alert and jittery now than they had been before. I had remembered to bring my book along with me this time, however, and so I occupied myself with that to settle my nerves until Bella came.

The bell tinkled and I was instantly alert. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the mouth-watering, floral scent I knew would come. But it didn't. I looked up, confused, and saw that the customer was not in fact Bella. Laughing at myself for not realising it before, and with a twinge of shame, I closed my book reluctantly and stood to greet the customer. My spirits were dampened now that I knew it was not Bella, and I did not feel like dealing with this person right now.

The boy advanced – he looked about my age, maybe younger – and I could see the sun glinting off his golden blonde, gelled hair. (I hoped it did not catch a bare patch of my skin and expose me). The man clutched his prescription tightly, his knuckles white and trembling against his skin. He walked awkwardly, and he looked over his shoulder sporadically with anxious jerks of his head, as if someone was there. I watched him and, for some reason, felt pity for him. I did not know why, but something about the boy made me want to go over and pat his shoulder and comfort him. A ridiculous notion, but I could not help it.

Poor boy looks scared of his own shadow! I thought, realising how true this was.

He reached the counter and I made an attempt at smiling at him – he looked as though he needed it. He smiled back, though it was not so much a smile as a robotic tweak of the corners of his lips. His face did not relax afterwards.

The boy held out the slip of paper hesitantly; his fingers were shaking. I took it from him, careful not to make contact with his skin. He was scared enough as it was, I did not need to increase it with my glittering and ice-like skin. I glanced at the title of the medicine – and froze.

It was the exact same medicine that Bella usually bought. Confusion struck me and I looked back up at the boy, frowning and studying his face. He did not look familiar to me, and I was sure Bella had never mentioned a blonde haired boy in any of our conversations before.

Still wondering who the man was and why he was buying this particular medicine, but thinking it too impolite to ask him about it, I retreated to the back room and found the little bottle of pills I always reserved for Bella. It felt odd, handing this stranger medicine that I was sure he didn't even use. But he paid me and I gave him his change, and he turned to stumble out of the clinic. And it hit.

He was replacing Bella. Jacob and Bella's argument came rushing back to me and I recalled the one, significant thing Jacob had said to Bella that had brought me so much unease and had partially, also, led me to keep her necklace: "I don't want you seeing that man anymore. I don't want you near this town, near that clinic. It's dangerous." Now, it seemed, Jacob had stayed true to his word. This boy had, most likely, somehow been sent to purchase Jacob's medicine regularly, as was once Bella's job. I wondered if he had any affiliation to Bella or Jacob, or their family – in addition to wanting to know more about Bella and Jacob's threat to her – so I hastily called out to him.

"Wait!" I cried, and the boy jumped – literally. My voice had been harsher than I'd intended, and it seemed I'd scared him out of his wits; again. He turned, eyes wide and fearful, and I tried to make my voice softer when I spoke next. "Who are you?"

He looked at his shoes, and I heard him wonder whether to step forward or not. He decided against it eventually, and stood straight as a rod when he responded.

"I-I'm Mike Newton, sir," he replied in a little more than a whisper.

Sir. My head tilted and I wondered why he'd used such a formal manner of speaking to me. My intrigue increased.

"How..." I began, but stopped and hesitated. Finally, "Do you know Isabella?"

Mike nodded.

"Yes, sir. I'm the butler, you see. I keep house and cook and all that. I-I live with Miss. Swan and her h-husband."

I noticed Mike's stutter and how fearful he sounded when mentioning Jacob, but I did not say anything. I continued, the desire for more information growing.

"Do you know where she is?" I asked, my eyebrows rising in hope.

To my dismay, the butler shook his head. A little too fervently, one might say.

"No, sir." It sounded too mechanical, too automatic, even for him, who looked mechanical and shaking as it was; as if he had been commanded to say it. I suddenly felt a rush of hate for Jacob Black.

I nodded anyway, and smiled.

"Thankyou, anyway, Mike," I said. He nodded and ghosted from the clinic, shaking all the while.

As soon as he had left I pondered on what new information I had just received, and thought how odd Mike Newton was. Finding this far more amusing and interesting than my book – which I now considered insipid – I spent the next half hour thinking of it, and the rest of my shift passed in this fashion.

When I returned home it was much like I left it, with the only exception being that Carlisle had gone out to hunt. Esme was still at the kitchen table reading today's newspaper, and Rosalie was still gone. I dropped my bag on the floor and joined my mother in the kitchen, reading the newspaper over her shoulder and inquiring about her day and how she was feeling about Rosalie. She replied that she was fine, and both her thoughts and her voice assured me that this was indeed the case.

A particular article caught my eye. I asked Esme if I could have the paper for a moment, and she complied. The title read: SERIAL KILLERS CLOSE BY. I read, and quickly became horrified with what I was reading. I was halfway through the article, when I heard the front door open. In the next second, Carlisle was at my side.

"So you've seen it, then?" Carlisle asked not quite rhetorically, pointing to the newspaper. I nodded.

"I don't understand," I said truthfully.

He sighed and sat down, hands folded upon the table. He unfolded them for a brief second to gently massage his brow, and then returned them. Both mine and Esme's eyes were fixed on him.

At last he said, "While I was out hunting, I caught a scent. Several scents, rather; some were more potent than the others. They were vampires, I was certain of it, but not only that – they were nomads." He paused, took a deep breath and went on. "In addition to the new vampire smells, I caught the scent of fresh blood in the distance. Judging by how far away the scent was from here, I guessed they were in Harvisham, maybe farther.

"I don't know much about them; up until now, I didn't even know a new band of vampires were due to pass through this town. But I know this." Carlisle shook his head slowly. "They mean business. Whatever innocent humans they murdered...I know they enjoyed it.

"We would do well to keep an eye out for them, as I'm sure they'll drop by here for a visit." Carlisle's authoritative voice rang through the house. Esme and I both nodded.

"I was reading this article about them before you came in," I said, gesturing to the newspaper.

Carlisle raised his eyebrows.

"What does it say about them?"

"Not much. The humans don't know a lot about them, only that they're a group of four supposed serial killers who are on a spree throughout this area. Thankfully, they haven't suspected anything supernatural, so exposure is unlikely," I replied, looking back to the article.

There was silence for a moment.

"Tell me, is there any picture of what these vampires look like?" Carlisle asked softly.

I nodded. "There is one, apparently taken by a witness who saw them fleeing from one of their murders. It only shows two of the vampires fully – a man and a woman – but the other two are hidden; I can't make out their faces."

I looked down at the photograph. The moonlight illuminated only spots of the photograph, but it was enough to make out that the town was Harvisham. A big, wooden house took up most of the photo; it's thick, cross-hatched beams looking even more ominous in the light. Another identical residence sat on the other side of the pathway, several metres behind the first. The brick ground stretched out past the two houses and on to the forest green beyond. A pool of blood seemed to seep out from the corner of the picture, even the still, snapshot of life not enough to stop its awful crawl. The moonlight shone down and a spot of the glow hit the blood, giving it a certain pearly, sickening effect to it.

Two figures were evident in the picture. They were in the act of fleeing from the murder scene, as was obvious in their captured poses. One was a woman, her cat-like face straight towards the camera. A vibrant shock of red hair trailed across her face and shoulders, caught in the wind. Apart from this, there was nothing else visible of her; her limbs were merely a blur. The other vampire was right behind her, this one a man. A corner of his head had a spot of moonlight on it to reveal sandy, brown hair. His limbs were also only a blur caused by the supernatural running, in addition to the left side of his head; but his eyes were visible. They stared behind him at the pool of blood on the floor, the corners crinkled and raised – he was smiling.

The third was indistinguishable against the black night. Surprisingly, one of his arms was visible, revealing only the outlines of burly muscles. The fourth was equally as invisible as the other. He or she was evidently in the act of hiding around the side of the second house, though apart from that I did not notice anything else. I frowned and looked harder at the picture, though my sight was perfect anyway.

I might have imagined it. It might have been just a trick of the light, or the witness' camera might have shook.

But I could have sworn I saw a head of wavy, blonde hair caught in the wind before it disappeared around the corner.