Author Note: Thanks for the awesome response to the last chapter! There isn't total agreement, but the majority think everyone is right except Edward. I think he just hasn't had enough therapy yet to truly see the benefits, and realize that he can get better with time. And while his shrink has a right to be concerned, he's most likely assuming that Bella is a more typical 18-year-old girl.
Thanks again to moosals and NKubie for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.
Thanks to Nic for the rec on The Lemonade Stand yesterday!
Chapter 4 — The Meadow
The stars align again on the following Wednesday — including the weather this time — so Edward and I plan another picnic. I like cooking for him; even though he's in shape, he's so thin, as if he didn't get enough to eat for years. I try not to dwell on it too much, or I just want to cry for him.
"Hey," I greet him with a small kiss as we meet at my truck. My dad's house is the last one on the end of the street, before the start of the forest, so I'm not too worried that one of our neighbors will see us. I unlock the door for Edward then head around to the driver's side, storing the picnic basket behind the seat.
As I turn north onto the 101, Edward clears his throat. "Can we go somewhere other than the beach today?"
"Sure," I agree readily. "Where do you want to go?"
"I'll give you directions."
"Ok." I'm a little confused about the secrecy, but I'm sure he has his reasons.
A mile or so north of town, Edward directs me to turn right onto a gravel road. The road ducks and curves through the trees for maybe a quarter of a mile, ending abruptly.
"Here?" I ask, confused. He nods, opening the door. As I grab the basket and blanket from the backseat, Edward lights up a cigarette, then leaves it dangling between his lips as he takes the items from me.
I follow him down a trail through the thick forest until suddenly it opens up into a large clearing, almost perfectly round in shape. It's some kind of meadow full of bright green grass and colorful wildflowers, a babbling creek along one side.
"Oh my God," I gasp, "This is beautiful!"
I take the blanket back from him, but I'm almost afraid to spread it out on the ground, not really wanting to crush any of the gorgeous wildflowers. Once I've done so, Edward sets the basket down, pulling out our lunch.
"Everything looks great," he smiles.
"Thanks," I smile back. "So, what is this place? I mean, how do you know about it?"
"We used to come here a lot when I was in high school. It was a great place for parties — when the weather was nice, anyway. We could park off the main road where no one could see the cars, and it's too far from civilization for noise to bother anyone."
"Really? I've never heard anyone mention this place. We usually hold parties at First Beach. That's where my friend's birthday party was, the night I came home drunk and couldn't figure out how to put a key in the door," I chuckle, remembering my embarrassment.
"The Quileutes were our biggest rival in football back then — we never would've thrown parties on their land," he explains.
"Did you party a lot?"
"Me?" He shakes his head. "Nah… I was too serious about school, or staying in shape. I'd drink sometimes, sure, but I rarely had more than a couple beers."
"Me too," I reply quietly. "I rarely drink." I don't want Edward to have the wrong impression of me, after what he saw that night.
"There was another reason I liked this place for parties," Edward says quietly a few minutes later, as he munches on one of the cookies I baked for dessert.
"What's that?"
"My parents were pretty easy-going; they didn't really care if I drank a little. They knew it was something most teenagers did. I mean, they grew up in the '60s and '70s," he laughs. "The only request they had was that I never drive drunk, or accept a ride from anyone who'd been drinking. My dad had seen the aftereffects of too many drunk driving accidents."
"Oh-kay?" I'm failing to see how his parents' request made this meadow a great location for parties.
"From here, I could walk home," he explains. He spins around for a moment, then points off to his right, between the trees. "Our old house was about a half mile in that direction."
"How can you tell?" I chuckle, not able to even see the start of a trail.
He smiles, but it doesn't seem like a happy smile. "If the way back to the parking area is at twelve o'clock," he begins, nodding toward the direction we'd come from, "The trail home was at five o'clock."
"How on earth would you be able to see where you were going in the dark?" Surely no moonlight would be able to penetrate the heavy tree cover.
"We did have a little invention called a flashlight back in the '90s, Bella," he smirks, and I chuckle. Ok, that was a dumb question.
Something about the expectant look on his face though… the pieces of the puzzle begin to click into place. The one lingering question I had. Not about his innocence, but about the… how.
"That's how you found Bree's body." I speak slowly, the idea forming in my brain at the same time as my words. "You were coming home from a party here."
He nods, bringing his knees up and resting his arms and chin on them, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Have you… been here since that night?" He shakes his head. "Will you tell me what happened?"
He closes his eyes, sighing, then opens them again, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. As he holds one to his lips, his hands are shaking so badly that he can barely light it. He blows out a cloud of smoke, scrubbing his left hand over his face, swallowing thickly.
"I haven't told the story to anyone since the day I took the stand at my trial."
"Does that mean you won't tell me?" I ask, trying not to be disappointed.
"It means I need a minute, but… I'll tell you."
I watch as Edward smokes, his eyes seeming to be staring off at something that only he can see. When he finishes his cigarette, he stubs it out in the grass then tosses it aside.
"We had a party here that night," he begins. "I don't remember why, if we even needed a reason. I usually stopped at two beers, but it was the summer… my last chance to just be a kid before I went off to study pre-med, before I had to act like a responsible adult.
"Besides the alcohol, someone had brought some weed. I usually just passed the joint to the next person, but that night I smoked it.
"My curfew was 1am. I left around 12:30, stoned and maybe still a little drunk. I knew the path by heart, I didn't usually look down at the ground. And then I tripped over something. I looked down and… it was all I could do not to throw up."
"Bree's body," I breathe.
He nods. "I didn't know who she was at the time, but she was obviously dead. I took off running. I mean, what if whoever had killed her was still out there? What if I was next?
"My parents had left all the outside lights on for me. As I got to the house, I noticed blood on my shoe. I panicked for a minute, then tossed them into the garbage can hidden around the corner of the garage. And then I went inside and went to bed."
"Why didn't you wake up your parents and tell them what you'd seen?" I ask curiously.
"Because I was drunk and stoned. I… I probably wasn't thinking clearly, but… I was afraid my parents would be upset with me, especially for the weed. And if I had to tell my story to the cops in that condition…" He trails off, shaking his head.
"The next morning, Mom woke me up to go to church with them. I was still a bit hungover," he remembers. "There were whispers around church that Bree was missing, so I knew that no one else had found the body. After the sermon, my parents stood around outside talking to some friends, so I went down the street to a payphone and called in the tip to 9-1-1.
"By the time we got home, there were cops everywhere. I think the entire Forks police force was there. Since our house was the closest to where the body was found, they wanted to interview us, in case we'd seen or heard something.
"I told them I wasn't home all night, so one set of cops talked to my parents and another set talked to me. I admitted that I'd been to a party, but I lied that it was in a friend's basement. I told them that the same friend who'd picked me up, had dropped me off just before my curfew. I figured I'd have time to call him, convince him to go along with my story, in case the cops felt the need to check into it."
He stops, running his hand roughly through his hair. "The guys talking to my parents finished up first and started taking a look around, looking for any evidence, in case the killer had come by that way. One of them looked in the trash can and pulled out my shoes… and my mom signed my death warrant."
I gasp. "Your mom?"
He nods. "She said, 'What are Edward's new shoes doing in the trash?' They'd just gotten them for me for my 18th birthday a few weeks earlier. She didn't see the blood when the cop first pulled them out. But then he flipped them over."
"What did you do then?" I ask, spellbound by his story.
"I told the truth… or 95-percent of it, anyway. I didn't admit to the weed. The cops believed me — or at least it seemed like they had.
"Weeks went by and no new evidence turned up, nothing that pointed to the killer."
"What about the hairs found on the body?" I interrupt. "The ones they tested for DNA. The longer hairs obviously weren't yours."
"The cops thought they were Bree's hair," he explains. "Her hair was more or less the same color blonde as… his. And there was no scientific way to prove anything else back then.
"The whole town was on edge, waiting for the cops to make an arrest. People were scared to death that there was some crazed murderer in Forks. My classes at U-Dub were starting the last week in September, and they arrested me a few days before I was supposed to leave for Seattle."
"How could anyone who knew you or your parents believe you were actually guilty? Did the townspeople really believe it?"
"Not then," he says quietly. "They were sure the cops had made a mistake. But months later, after I'd been convicted, they started to believe it. They put their faith in the system; a jury had found me guilty of murder."
"But how could a jury of people who knew you ever come to that conclusion?" I ask, feeling irrationally angry for him. "What possible motive could the prosecutor have given? Did you even know Bree?"
"The jury didn't know me," he replies quietly. "The trial wasn't held in Forks, but at the county courthouse in Port Angeles, the next April. Forks residents didn't make up the jury."
He stops, sighing. "Bree went to Forks High, but she'd just finished her sophomore year. I knew her name because she was president of her class, but I don't think I'd ever spoken to her. The motive they gave was that she'd spurned my advances and I turned on her, snapped or something.
"It was pretty much ridiculous, but… the jury found that I had opportunity and there was physical evidence placing me at the scene. If I'd just told someone the night before…" He shakes his head again. "The coroner couldn't really narrow down the time of death, after her body had been lying outside exposed all night. My friend testified to the time he'd picked me up to go to the party, and a dozen witnesses testified that I was there all night until just after 12:30. But Bree's parents had last seen her about two hours before I went out, so there was still a window of time before the party when I could've done it, the prosecutor said. Or even after the party, since my parents never heard me come home."
He stops, pulling out his pack of cigarettes again, but this time he really is shaking too hard to light one. He angrily throws the pack to the ground, and I barely resist reaching out to comfort him; he needs to tell me whatever is coming next.
"It was 18 years ago today that I was sentenced to death," he whispers, his voice trembling.
I inhale sharply. I hadn't been expecting that, hadn't realized that there was something behind Edward's choice to come here today, of all days.
The whole time he's been telling his story, Edward has been sitting curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his legs. Now he seems to deflate, lying back on the blanket and staring up at the sky.
I crawl on my knees over to him, carefully lying down beside him. I reach up to caress his cheek, then gently kiss along his strong jaw. Staring into his eyes, l softly kiss his pouty lips, a little surprised when he returns my kiss, just as softly. The look in his eyes is so needy.
I let my hand drift down his neck, over his chest and stomach, until I reach the bottom of his t-shirt. When he doesn't protest, I begin pushing up, exposing his torso. He lifts his shoulders from the blanket, helping me remove his shirt.
Rolling on top of him, I kiss him a little harder, brushing my hands over his bare skin. He lifts his arms from his sides, cradling my face in his hands as he returns my kisses.
When he lets me break away from his lips, I kiss my way down to his chest, my only goal to make him feel as good as he's made me feel. I tangle my fingers in his chest hair, sucking lightly on his nipples. Once I've reached his stomach, I start to open the button fly on his jeans, but he suddenly grasps my wrist.
"Let me."
I roll off of Edward, letting him remove his own pants. I reach for his hard cock, but he grasps my wrist again and I look up at him in confusion.
"You're wearing too many clothes," he whispers.
Smiling, I hurriedly strip out of my clothes. Edward sits up, watching me with this look of almost… awe on his face. Once I'm naked, he pulls me onto his lap, holding me in his arms, and I gasp when I feel him, hot and hard, beneath me.
He tucks my hair behind my ears, dragging his lips over mine, barely touching me. My heart is pounding madly from how much I want him. I swallow thickly as he reaches down, pressing his cock against me.
"Just slide down," he whispers. "I want to watch you ride me."
I feel my face flame at his words, but I do it, I sink down onto him, closing my eyes when it becomes too intense. When I open them again, he's staring right back. He kisses me gently, then takes my hands in his, lying back on the blanket.
Edward tugs on my hands and I get the hint, experimentally moving a little. He feels far too good like this. We manage to figure out a rhythm, with him grasping my hips, moving me just the way he wants while his lips suck at my nipples.
"Edward… oh, God…"
When I come, it takes me by surprise. I want to stop and just feel, but he won't let me, rolling us over until he's on top of me, chasing his own orgasm.
"Bella, fuck," he groans, and then it's over. He grasps me tightly, rolling us to our sides, as we both try to come down from our highs.
My breathing is almost back to normal when he tilts my chin up, kissing me sweetly. "You continue to amaze me," he says quietly.
"Why?"
"Nothing I say scares you away. Not even when I tell you how much of the mess I got into was my own fault."
I sit up abruptly, reaching for my clothes. The light wind on my sweaty skin is starting to feel cool. "It wasn't your fault, Edward! What, because you didn't tell the truth right away? Because you were scared? That shouldn't have condemned you to death."
He sighs, slipping into his underwear. This time he manages to light his cigarette. "Even you asked why I didn't just tell my parents when I got home."
"I wanted to understand what was in your head — and I do. Maybe it was a bad decision, but… I just don't know how anyone could've ever thought you were capable of such a thing."
"You can never know what anyone is capable of until their back is against the wall."
He's staring into space again, and I wonder what he's talking about. I don't ask though — I know he'll tell me in his own time.
A/N: More about Edward in this chapter, as we learn how he ended up on death row. What did you think of his story?
I don't usually do all of the traditional Twilight things like a meadow, but it fit this story. This is Edward in the meadow: i71 dot photobucket dot com/albums/i135/Thecommitted/Links/meadow_bampw dot jpg
Next update on Friday.
Grad Night is nominated for the Top 10 Completed Fics in April 2015 on TwiFanfictionRecs. Please vote if you enjoyed the story! Link on my profile. Remember you can vote every day!
