Disclaimer: I don't own twilight.
Chapter Four
I don't know why Edward was the first person that I called. Perhaps it was just that he was the last person I had spoken to. Perhaps it was one of those magical connections that drew me to him. On second thoughts, forget that last one – never mistake me for a hopeless romantic. And 'magical connections'?
Complete and utter bullshit.
However, though I may not be soft and soppy, at that moment I was pretty shaken up. How do you reckon you would deal if you walked into your house and found the door unlocked with bloodstains everywhere?
I begin to shake in earnest, my whole body quivering from shock and exhaustion. My legs give out and I slump to the pavement, pulling my knees up to my chest and leaning back against the red brick of an alleyways wall. With the phone clutched to my ear, I looked around, taking in my surroundings for the first time: I have run further than I realized, deep into the rougher part of town, and now I find myself surrounded by graffiti and cigarette butts in a dark and shabby backstreet.
In different circumstances, maybe I would be afraid, but at this instant all I can think about is my father – or the lack of him. For the moment there is no room inside me for fear for myself, though that will surely come later when it finally sinks in that I am well and truly lost.
"Charlie," I whisper, and to my shame I can feel a prickling in the corners of my eyes and a salty wetness begins to trickle down my cheeks, merging with the raindrops. It has been a long time since I last cried.
"Actually, it's Edward," Says a sarcastic voice and with a start I remember that I am still holding my mobile. My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. It is as if I am incapable of saying another word and I just take refuge in the fact that I am not alone. Finally Edward speaks again, seeming to finally grasp that something is very wrong. "Bella, um, are you alright?"
Still I sit there, holding the phone, but not making a sound. A hysterical sob escapes my lips, fading away into a whimper. I know, I know – pathetic right – but the shock was really getting to me and I had no idea what I could do.
A touch of urgency enters his velvety tones as he hears the noise, "Bella? Bella! For fuck's sake, speak to me! What's happening?"
"I…" I rasp, then start again. "It's Charlie. He's –" I break off, unsure what say.
"The Chief – I mean your Dad? Bella, you need to tell me what's going on. You're not making any sense!"
"I walked home, after the bus dropped me off and… and… He wasn't there, and I knew something was wrong, then –" My babbling pauses for a moment and I have to choke back another sob. "Then I found the door open… it was horrible Edward! And I went in and saw the blood… there was so much blood… and his gun – just lying there on the floor! I had to get away… Do you understand – I had to! I… I ran away! And… now I don't know where I am and I'm scared…"
Edward doesn't speak for a while, digesting this information. I can his breathing over the phone and the sound gives me comfort, soothing my frayed nerves. Calm settles over me like a blanket and I begin to think more rationally. I stand up, using the wall to support me, and, shaking off a slight feeling of trepidation, stagger out of the alley, onto a wider street. It is mostly empty apart from a couple of youths who, after eyeing me with mixed curiosity and suspicion, round the corner of the block and vanish out of sight. A small breath of relief escapes my lungs as they pass out of view – they are the kind of people that immediately made you think of drugs and violence, things that, being the daughter of a policeman, I have been raised to view with distrust.
"You say you don't know where you are?" Edwards question interrupts my thoughts.
"No," I say, a bit firmer than before. "It's not a nice part of town. That's all that I can tell you."
"I would say that I would come and find you, but if I don't know where to look then that would be pretty pointless. Isn't there anything that might clue you in?"
"Give me a minute."
I glance around again, looking for some kind of marker that could give me an indication of my location.
Nothing.
I turn around and there, camouflaged with rust and nearly obscure by a small mountain of trash, stands an old sign that reads in faded capitals 'SHIT STREET' – an ironic name, even if I do say so myself. As if to back up the sentiment, a pile of dog turd lies in a stinking pile at its base, contributing to the general atmosphere of decay and discrepancy that hangs over this neighbourhood like a heavy fog. Unbidden, a snigger rises up in me, but before it is fully formed the whole situation comes flooding back and it dies in the back of my throat.
"What was that?" Edward asks.
"Uh, nothing. I found a street sign though."
"Well don't hold back. Where the hell are you? I – shut up Alice!" I can hear his sister nattering on in the background and wait until the noise fades away before I answer.
"It says hear… Well, apparently I'm in, uh, 'Shit Street'…"
A guffaw of laughter blasts out of the phone. "Shit Street? You're kidding me, right?" At my silence he hastily apologises. "I'm sorry Bella. Obviously something's going on at the moment… But 'Shit Street'! You gotta admit that it's pretty funny."
His laughter continues and anger rises up in me. I snarl, "I'm serious and the least you can do is take this seriously as well. My Dad is missing! My home has been broken into! There is a big puddle of blood on the carpet for fucks sake!"
His snorts die away.
"Sorry," he repeats soberly. "I'll see if I can find the place on a map. Just stay where you are and I'll pick you up, ok?"
"Sure," I say, and press the disconnect button. I reach into my pocket and pull out the iPod I saved up for last year.
As Green Day blasts away at my ears, doubts begin to corrode my mind. For the first time I remember that I have only recently met Edward and don't actually know that much about him. We seemed to get along alright, but already I was dragging him into a mess that he had absolutely nothing to do with. Briefly, I consider calling him again, telling him that I would make my own way back… Back to where?
Suddenly it strikes me: I can't go home.
I can't face the empty house – I wouldn't feel safe. I wouldn't know what to do with myself.
Another thought hits me. I hadn't even considered that the blood might not actually have been my Dad's. Hope surges up and I pull out my phone for the second time, this time dialling the police. I yank out my headphones just a second before the voice of the tinny operator crackles through the speakers. It puts me on hold for a minute, before a gruff voice answers the line.
"This is the police. What can we help you with?" I don't recognise the person speaking, but it is obvious from their tone that they are bored.
"This is Bella Swan," I say. "My father is Chief Swan –"
He cuts me off, immediately sounding alert. "You're Charlie's daughter?"
"Yes –"
Without letting me finish, he carries on, "Where are you?" My heart sinks and any hope I had drains away. I knew it – something's gone terribly wrong. And my father is caught up in it.
"I'm –" He interrupts me again.
"Stay where you are. Your father didn't arrive at work today. He seemed so sure that he had a lead, but…" the man stopped and seemed to think about what he was saying. "Sorry. Classified information. I can't tell you anything more. Are you at your house?"
"No," I say without inflection.
"There where?"
"I'm not completely sure. Some friends of mine are coming to pick me up in a moment."
"You do that –" I hang up on him.
The phone slips from my grasp and lands with a thud on the floor. I bend down and pick it up, not really caring whether it is broken or not, and shove it back into my pocket.
My contemplations return to my father.
We never got on much, Dad and I. He meant well, I suppose, but he was overbearing, controlling, and he never properly understood me. We never had those father-daughter bonding sessions that some families do. His work meant everything to him and often it took precedence over me.
When I was younger and needed attention it wasn't Charlie that parented me; it was our next door neighbour, Mrs Clearwater. When I came home from school, sick and needing comfort, it was Mrs Clearwater that nursed me back to health. I never knew my mother and in a way, I don't know my father either. But all the same, he is what I have. I can't lose him, even if he is an aggravating, overly critical, bastard of a control-freak father.
The sound of footsteps invades my ears and I glance up. Two figures round the corner into view, one tall and the other almost comically short: Edward and his brat of a sister, Alice.
"Swan," Alice's voice drips with condensation. "You seem to have infected my brother. He is worried about you. Is it blackmail or have you genuinely managed to cloud his mind?"
"Alice!" Edward says reproachfully. "She's going through a difficult time at the moment. The least you could do is show some sensitivity."
"She is a bitch!" the midget yells, before turning around to face me. "Stay away from my brother!"
I allow myself to slip back into my normal persona and glower at her. Every single reason for why I hate Alice Cullen flashes before my eye: in first grade when she stole my sticky tape and used it to attach a 'Bella Swan is stupid' poster to the whiteboard; on my first day in high school when she told me that my fashion sense was shit and that my favourite pair of comfy trainers were infecting the corridor with bacteria; every single time she sneered down her nose with that look of supreme superiority – as if I were something disgusting stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
A whole range and brilliant comebacks are within my grasp, but in the heat of the moment all I can think to say is, "Shut up Short ass."
It has the desired effect though: she rocks back on her heels as if struck by a physical blow – when you are only 4 foot 11 height is a touchy subject. We glare at each other, her blue eyes attempting to burn a hole in my skull and I half expected her to spit fire.
Then she exploded.
"See!" She rounds on her brother, using one perfectly manicure finger to poke him in the chest (which, incidentally, was quite a way up for her) and staring up at him with a look of deranged triumph. "See what I mean? She is a nightmare! You wouldn't understand – you haven't had to deal with her for your entire school career! Disrupting the lessons, always trying to sabotage our learning with her stupid comments and her… her…" At this point words seem to fail her and she just stands there, breathing heavily and generally looking out of place with her vibrant designer clothes in the dank street.
Edward stares between us, clearly wondering what is going on. I slump.
"Look, Alice. I know that we have never gotten along, but could you please hear me out just this once." I wait, but she says nothing. Eventually I take this as permission to proceed. "Something has happened to Charlie. He didn't show up at word today and the house has been broken into." I pause again, wondering how much to tell them.
"Go on," Edward urges.
Taking a deep breath, I continue. "There was blood on the floor and… and his gun was there."
Alice looked up at me with shock, finally seeming to understand this was not a time for antagonism. She took a step backwards and seemed to shrink. "Blood? I – I don't know what to say…"
"Have you phoned the police?" Her brother's voice is brisk and business like.
I nod wordlessly.
"And they said?"
"Not much – they just confirmed that Dad was caught up in something bad. Said something about a big lead, though didn't mention the case he was working on. Seemed to think it was classified. But – nothing ever happens around here… Does it?" A slight note of pleading enters my voice, and to my surprise it is Alice that comforts me.
"I'm sure he's alright. The chief is tough."
"Thanks," I say, grateful for the support, even if it is given grudgingly.
"I still don't like you," she adds hastily, just in case I get the wrong impression.
I grin weakly. "Wouldn't have it any other way midget."
"Come on," Edward says. "Let's get back. You should go with us back to our house – yours might not be safe. Do you think the police are looking for you?"
I frown. Were they? "Not yet," I answer, though not completely certain what they were doing. Had I worried them with my panicked phone call? "I was pretty vague, but I did say that some friends of mine were coming to pick me up and that I would phone them again after that happened. Do you think they will want to talk to me?" I sincerely hoped not – I had no idea what I would say to them. "What happens if he – Dad – is dead? Where will I live?" The fear that had been partially buried rises up again and threatens to engulf.
No one answers me. Instead we splash through the rain back to the Cullen residence.