Emmett POV

The boy sobbing in my arms is so lost, so incredibly lost and even though I know that I am closer than ever to helping him find his way I am powerless to ease his suffering.

"Shhh," I soothe as he chokes.

We are sitting where we always are when Rupert comes out to play. On the floor beside Ed's bed, his head in my lap, his puke on my shoes.

I didn't understand why, and neither did Rosalie with all her head shrinking degrees, but for some reason the emergence of Rupert tore Edward apart both mentally and physically.

James made his head spin but Rupert turned him inside out.

Rose suspected it was because James was a bandaid designed to fix simple problems and that Rupert was a total mind and body cast intended to shut the real Edward down and protect him from more serious problems.

I didn't have a better theory so I subscribed to hers.

When Edward needed an escape from his mundane life he turned into James. When he needed protection from that life Rupert arrived.

The pattern was getting clearer and clearer but it had been a long time since I'd been in Rupert's company.

Whatever had gone on in Bella's office had had such a profound effect on Ed that his mind and body had shut down, leaving Rupert in his place.

"I should've helped," he whimpers in my lap.

"Helped who?" I ask carefully.

He doesn't have a chance to answer because he starts retching again right away. I let him puke. There is no way to stop it anyway. He'd puke for an hour or so, cry and wail for a few more until his mind and body were so exhausted he couldn't stand and then he'd sleep it off.

There was nothing left in his gut to come out so he was left with the awful, wracking hacks instead of actually vomiting and somehow that was worse. His body convulsed, his mouth made the movements, but nothing came out.

I rub his back and keep his hair out of his eyes and his puke through it all, like I always did.

"Shhh," I soothe again when he stopped retching and went back to just whimpering. "It'll be alright," I tell him, though I had nothing to actually base that on.

"He died for me," he moans, the first real words he'd spoken about what happened five years ago.

"He did," I agree softly because that much had to be true.

Whatever had happened that day that one thing was clear. Charlie Swan died protecting this kid, he took his last breath making sure Ed could take some more.

"I wanted to die too," he mumbles as he closes his eyes.

The lump in my throat won't let me answer. I couldn't dispute what he'd said. It was the first time he'd ever shown any sign of remembering anything at all and while that made me very, very happy his statement also made me fear what was coming if he did remember it all.

Would he still want to die himself? Would his grief and fear make him take his own life if he remembered? I had no answer to those questions because I'd never spent any time thinking about what would come after he remembered. I'd been so hell bent on getting him to actually remember that what would come next was a foreign concept.

When the kids soft snuffling snores are the only sound in the bedroom I slide him off my lap and carry his limp body to his bed. I tug his shoes off but leave his clothing on. He's shivering, like always, so I leave him with as much covering him as possible.

I make sure he's on his side in case he pukes again and wait a full ten minutes to make sure he's properly asleep before I run to collect towels and disinfectant from the laundry room.

I scrub the carpet, dose it with the pine scented liquid and rub it hard with a clean towel. He still hadn't moved by the time I'd cleaned up the mess so I left him to sleep it off and went to find Jasper.

He was in the office, tapping furiously on the keyboard. He didn't raise his eyes as I enter and I knew why. The pain he'd been witness to hurt like a bitch, especially when it manifested itself in a guy as gentle as Edward.

"He'll be okay," I say quietly, even though he hadn't asked. "He's been sick and he'll be a bit out of sorts come morning, but he will be alright."

"How often?" he asks simply, without raising his eyes.

I sigh as I take the seat opposite where he's working. "Rupert's pretty rare," I mumble. "He only shows himself when Ed's this close to losing his shit altogether," I say, using my fingers to denote an inch in size.

"Once a month, once every six, once a year?" he asks, still not looking up.

"Top right hand drawer," I say instead of answering the question. He opens the drawer and asks what he's looking for. "The blue book," I sigh.

He takes it out and starts flipping pages. I leave him be for a minute and while he reads I pull the phone on the desk closer.

"Bella, its Emmett," I say when she answers.

"Is he alright?" is her first question and it makes me smile.

"He's fine, honey," I reassure her. "He's sleeping and when he wakes up tomorrow he'll be perfectly fine. Are you alright? Are you still at work?"

"I'm okay," she sighs, sounding a little relieved that Ed was okay. "I'm at home now too."

"Can you tell me what happened?" I ask carefully. She didn't have to tell me if she didn't want to, I just held out the hope that she would want to.

"I think I upset him," she whispers. "When you first brought him into my office he looked a little green so I offered him some water or an aspirin, but he refused. He asked how I came to work there and I told him I'd been going there since I was little. I told him that daddy had been a cop back then and that he used to have me meet him there after school. It upset him."

"Did you mention your dad's name?" I ask as I click my fingers to get Jasper's attention. I mouth the word pen to him and he passes me one before turning his attention back to the journal in his hands.

I make notes as Bella talks. After I've thanked her for her efforts, told her not to worry about Ed for the night and wished her a good sleep for herself I spend a few extra minutes scribbling on the scrap of paper.

"There's a pattern in this," Jasper mumbles, probably to himself but I'd heard.

"There is," I agree, still scribbling on the paper. "Rose noticed it at first, asked me to make notes of my own on the days in between his visits to her."

I hear him flipping pages back and forth and then he makes a low hiss. "It's Tanya," he mutters darkly.

"Looks that way," I tell him as I shove the paper I'd been writing on across the desk to join a stack already there.

"She comes to the house on irregular days but the outcome is always the same," he correctly surmises.

"And?" I ask, desperate to know if he saw what I saw in the notes.

He's quiet for a moment as he flips more pages, his thumbs marking some before he turns back to them and reads for a few seconds more. "His reaction, the length of time it takes him to recover, is directly related to the length of her visits," he announces with not a little venom in his voice. "He reacts aggressively if he's been left alone with her?" he asks.

"That's just a theory," I warn.

"If your notes are accurate it's more than a theory," he snarls. "There are no other mentions of him being aggressive with anyone, nobody," he says matter of factly. "He's never even lashed out at you, just Tanya, what the fuck?"

"I can't explain it," I tell him firmly, "that's just what I've observed."

"Was he aggressive with Bella tonight?" he asks.

"Not when he was being himself, no. And he wasn't aggressive in the strictest sense once Rupert had taken over either," I tell him. "He was sexually insistent, lewd, suggestive and inappropriate, but not aggressive physically."

"So Bella doesn't make him aggressive, he's never reacted aggressively with you or anyone else other than Tanya. His brain knows not to trust her," he sighs.

"I figured as much too," I sigh just as heavily as I sit back in my seat. "Bella even mentioned her father in their conversation tonight and he didn't react badly, he just retreated to the safety of another persona. I won't know until tomorrow morning if he's going to come up swinging like he does after Tanya's been here."

"The two different personas, aside from his own," he began slowly as he lowered the journal to the desktop, "they protect him, but in different ways."

"How so?" I ask, hoping he'd been able to see something I couldn't see in the scratching inside that damned blue book.

"Think about how different they are. All three of them. Edward's a quiet, unassuming kind of guy when he's being himself. He's shy to the point of being socially awkward. Keeps his eyes lowered, his hands in his lap. He's not demonstrative in any way and makes little to no demand on anyone.

"James, on the other hand, is assertive. Confident where Edward isn't, at all. He's forceful and courageous. Even though he shows that courage and forcefulness by doing stupid things it's still the same. He's brave. Willing to try new things.

"And then there's Rupert. And he's everything Edward's not, too. Boastful and lecherous. He's so openly repulsive that nothing in a skirt within a hundred miles would ever consider being with him, in any capacity.

"They are the parts of his brain the real Edward thinks he lacks. Confidence. Self assurance. Courageousness and attractiveness to the opposite sex.

"His brain is filling in the gaps. Its giving him what he needs," he says with a hiss. "Rupert is a defence that keeps women at a distance. He's so obnoxious he makes it so that Ed doesn't need to be afraid to have someone close to him, to love him back only to be disappointed if he fails them. If he never has anyone in his life that loves him he never has to feel as though he's let them down. It's probably so that he doesn't run the risk of losing anyone, too. If nobody loves him he won't need to grieve if anyone dies."

"James does the same for him, but in a different way. James, because he's a spy, can't have attachments. They become targets. So James satisfies Edward's need to be in control, to be able to fight back when he himself can't or couldn't. James is the epitome of what Edward wishes he was. A fighter. Someone nobody can hurt ever again. Someone without emotional attachments to anyone, male or female, so that they are never harmed because of him.

"The three personalities are working to keep him isolated. Alone. No attachments mean nobody gets hurt, nobody dies because of him."

I just stare at him. Enthralled at the machinations of his brain. Impressed beyond belief at how he saw the problem and grateful that it wasn't just my problem any longer.

"Thank you," I tell him wearily. "Thank you for giving a shit about this kid."

"He doesn't deserve this. Any of this," he says sadly as he stares at me across the desk. "What he does deserve is somebody to help him fight, to be in his corner. Someone to crack the code in his head and help him deal with the fallout once he does remember."

"He said he wanted to die alongside Charlie tonight," I tell him hoarsely, emotion welling up inside me.

"I don't doubt that for a minute," Jasper replies gently.

"It's the first time he's ever mentioned that day."

"Because we've found a piece of the puzzle," Jasper assures me.

"He's so lost," I whimper, ashamed of myself for showing this guy the chink in my own armour.

"He's not lost," he says firmly, "he's hiding. We'll hold the flashlight and show him the way home."

"Thank you," I blub like a baby as I lower my forehead to the desks surface and allow all my grief and frustration to pour out of me.

EPOV

The light in the room is piercing when I wake. Even through a squint it hurts, making the pounding in my head intensify.

The rolling in my gut matches the stale, acrid smell of vomit in the room.

My shirt's bunched under my armpits, making it difficult to move. The bed covers look and feel as though I'd spent the night thrashing and if the aching, lethargic feeling in every muscle group in my body was anything to go by, I had.

I manage to stand, though I start to think that's me at the top of my game judging by the steady tremble in my knees.

I make it to my bathroom without incident, but its slow going. I turn on the shower and let the steam fill the room before I step out of my clothing. The smell of sweat and vomit is intensified in the heat and I find myself desperate to wash it off my skin.

I stand under the spray a long, long time before I start to scrub. My muscles ease with the heat, my headache softening to a dull roar as the hot water does its thing.

"You up to something to eat?" I hear shouted outside the door.

"Toast," I croak back.

"You need anything?" comes Emmett's next question. One he's asked me on mornings like this a lot.

"A bullet," I mumble to myself before telling him I'm good and need nothing other than the toast.

When I'm finished scrubbing and am clean and dry I go back to my bedroom to find the Emmett Fairy had removed all evidence of whatever the hell I'd done to myself the night before.

The bed was stripped and a pile of clean linens were sitting on the end. My shoes were gone, as was the towel soaked in my vomit that had been on the floor next to them. The drapes are still closed, probably so that I could get dressed, but the windows behind them were open.

I slide gingerly into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and then go looking for my glasses. I don't need them for every day, just for reading, but in the state I was in any assistance they could give me as I walked through the house was welcome.

A new pair were on my dresser, still in their packaging, and I had to wonder just what I'd done with the last pair. I tended to break them and scratch their lenses almost weekly. Emmett kept a stock of them I was so hard on them.

I slid them on and felt a minor relief from the stinging as my eyes adjusted with their assistance.

I threw open the drapes and cringed at the streaming sunlight that flooded the room.

I braved a look in the mirror above the dresser and cringed again at what I saw.

The bags under my eyes were so heavy, so dark, that I looked like death warmed up. My lips were thin, a tight line that made me look demented.

And maybe I was?

I kept blacking out. Couldn't recall hours, sometimes whole days of my existence.

I felt ill nearly all the time, had headaches that wouldn't give up and a voice in my head that kept chanting names at me.

I wasn't right.

And the bitch of it was that it was only me who knew it.

Even Rosalie insisted I was normal. And if a shrink didn't notice the mess inside my head how in god's name could I be expected to fix it?

Emmett POV

"How is he?" Jasper asks as I move through the kitchen and into the laundry with Ed's bedclothes.

I pile the sheets into the washing machine and throw in an extra dose of sanitiser before hitting start on the control panel.

"Groggy," I tell him when I get back to the kitchen. "He'll eat some toast, lie down for a while somewhere quiet and he'll come good," I tell him as I push two pieces of bread into the toaster.

"And Bella?" he asks.

"She was shaken and pretty disappointed last night," I tell him in reference to the call I'd made while he'd been reading through the journal.

"Should we call her again this morning?"

"Probably," I agree. "I was thinking of asking her to come over," I hedge.

"While he's groggy?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"While he's himself," I correct him. "She told me what was said between them in her office and you and I have already worked out that her name, and her dads, are probably the triggers that made Rupert come out of hiding. If she avoids that, and they just talk generally, we might have more luck."

"And you're hoping that while he's groggy he'll be more receptive to questions," he mumbles.

I spread butter thickly on the toast and slide the two slices onto a plate. "I have no clue about that," I tell him honestly as I set the plate on the kitchen table. "I've tried a hundred times, in a hundred different ways, to ask him questions but he just doesn't remember."

"So you're thinking that someone else asking the questions, someone actually connected to the incident itself, will be what works?" he asks as he sets the pots of jam and peanut butter on the table by the toast.

"I've never had anyone actually connected with the incident on hand to try before," I shrug. "It's the one thing that's been missing all these years. Someone who knew both him and Charlie back then and who's willing to go carefully to get the answers."

"Go call her then," he tells me. "I'll make his tea and while they chat I want to show you what my ID search threw up."

I thank him and do just that. She answers my call on the first ring, assures me that she's fine even though she hardly slept overnight, and that she'd be happy to come by.

Edward's sitting at the kitchen table nibbling on his toast when I come out of my office. He's got his glasses on despite having no newspaper on hand to read.

He doesn't realise that the glasses are fakes. Clear glass set into proper optical frames. It's not his eyesight that's a problem; it's the fuzziness in his head after he's switched personalities that bothers him.

The physical manifestations of his problems were getting worse I had to admit to myself as I watched him take tiny bites and struggle to swallow the bread.

He wasn't sleeping nearly enough and when he did he moaned and thrashed through the night. His hands shook almost constantly. He was pale and drawn, looked older than he should and his eyes were starting to fade to deadness.

"That nice girl Isabella from the restaurant is coming over shortly," I tell him cautiously.

"What for?" he mumbles around his toast.

"She called while you were in the shower to tell me you'd dropped your wallet in her office," I say as convincingly as I can. "She's pretty worried about you," I tell him, which isn't a lie so I find it easier to say. "You weren't feeling too well before we left and she's concerned that you might have eaten something at her establishment that was less than...well, that upset your stomach."

He looks at me a long time then nods wearily, as though he doesn't care. He probably doesn't. The way he's feeling I doubt he cares about much more than sleeping and eating. And probably not all that much about the eating I think as he shoves the half finished slice of toast away from himself.

"I'll be in the living room," he mumbles as I watch him slowly walk away.

BPOV

Approaching the house felt different this time. This time I had an invitation and I knew I wouldn't need to scale any walls, or dangle from any trees to get an audience. It didn't mean I was any less nervous though.

I'd come on foot last time but this time I was in my car so I had to lean out of the open driver's side window to press the button by the gate. I expected either Emmett or Jasper to talk to me through it, instead the gate swung open almost instantly.

"How simple it is," I mutter sarcastically as I drive slowly through the gates. I park beside a dark blue Mercedes and take a second to calm myself down before I go to the door.

Emmett greets me enthusiastically and slips a black leather wallet into my hand, as he'd told me he would on the phone. I pocket it quickly and step through the door.

"Come into my office for a minute," he says quietly and then leads me just around the corner. "He's groggy this morning," he says once we're inside the room and the door is shut. "He's always like that after he's slipped into or out of one of his alter egos but he's okay," he assures me.

"Won't me being here just make this worse?" I ask, even though I know that Edward is my one and only shot at learning what happened to my dad I didn't want to do the guy any more damage all the same.

Emmett regards me for a long moment and then smiles. "I'm so pleased you're worried about him," he whispers, "he needs someone to worry about him. But I think we both need to be prepared for the possibility that we're going to have to hurt him to help him."

"You worry about him," I point out carefully. "I know you do."

"I do," he sighs, as though that's something he should be ashamed of.

"My dad worried about him too you know? He loved that guy like his own son," I tell him.

"I figured as much after meeting you," he says cryptically. "He's in the living room and I'll be right here, so will Jasper, so any problems either call for us or use your alarm."

I take it out of my pocket and show him I still have it. "Where's the living room?" I ask.

"Back the way we came in, turn right at the hall and go all the way to the end," he tells me before wishing me luck.

The house is enormous, bigger still than the one he'd lived in with my dad. It was also a lot plainer. There was no colour at all. Just a stark cream on the walls and brown or black furniture. Nothing at all like the homey one he'd had before.

There aren't any pictures on the walls here either I think sadly as I step into the living room and find Edward lying on a long sofa, a hand thrown over his eyes.

I cough to announce my presence and he sits up immediately.

"Hello Edward," I whisper as I go further into the room.

"Hello Isabella," he says roughly as he rubs his eyes with his palms.

"You dropped this in my office last night," I say, holding out the wallet.

"I didn't realise," he says as he takes it from me. "Thank you so much for coming all this way to return it."

"I don't mind," I tell him, feeling awkward now that the 'reason' I was there was out of the way. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well," I say in a rush.

"It wasn't your food," he says just as hurriedly, "you don't have to worry."

"I was worried," I say before I can stop myself. "May I sit?" I ask, nodding towards one of the armchairs opposite his position. He nods his permission and I sit carefully on the edge, placing my bag at my feet. "I wasn't worried about you because of the restaurant," I say carefully. "I was worried about you because you were my friend once."

"I was?" he asks, eyebrows raised. "I don't remember you, I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head.

"I know you don't," I say firmly, trying to keep the disappointment and the nerves out of my voice like Emmett suggested.

"Did we go to school together or something?" he asks as he slides his wallet onto the coffee table between us.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I knew you during the time that you made the first film in the Mission series."

He tilts his head then, gazing at me carefully and I imagine I can see his brain straining to work out who I was to him. "Were you an extra?" he asks.

"No, Edward," I sigh. "I used to visit you in your home sometimes. You even came to the restaurant sometimes too. Do you remember the restaurant at all?"

His hands are shaking as they rake nervously through his hair. "I don't know," he says sadly. "I don't remember a lot these days. I think I drink," he mumbles but I hear him.

I edge forward a little more. "The bodyguard you had before Emmett used to bring you to the restaurant," I tell him cryptically, keeping daddy's name out of it as Emmett had asked me to. "That was before I started working there and your bodyguard would bring you in the evenings for a meal."

"The smoke," he whispers as his body begins to shake.

"The cops that ate there always smoked," I tell him gently, pleased he'd at least remembered something, even if it was something small. "You and your bodyguard would slip into the main bar and have a cigar with the other policemen after dinner."

"I smoked cigars?" he asks.

"You did," I assure him. "You always had smoked cigarettes I think, but your bodyguard preferred cigars and pretty soon so did you."

"You didn't like it," he mumbles. "You never came with us. You always sat in the booth with your assignments while we smoked."

I smile then. He'd remembered something else, something true, something tangible. "Yes," I say as calmly as I can.

"We had to sit at the very end of the bar so we could see you, watch you, make sure you were alright," he whispers, probably to himself.

"I didn't know that," I say, getting a little excited that he'd remembered that detail without prompting.

"What were you studying?" he asks after a moments silence.

"Accounting."

"Did I know that, before, when you knew me?" he asks.

"You did," I say matter of factly. "You were good at it too. You used to help me with my assignments."

"I did?" he asks, almost disbelievingly. "I'm not good with numbers now. I think I drink," he mumbles again as he slumps back against the sofa.

He kept saying that, that he thought he was a drinker, and even though I knew it was untrue I did as Emmett said and didn't make mention of his mental health issues.

"You have a headache?" I ask and he nods as he closes his eyes. "I'll be right back," I tell him as I get to my feet and retrace my steps back to the front foyer.

From there I locate the kitchen and take some bottled water from the huge refrigerator. On my way back to the living room I stick my head into the other corridors and rooms and find a small powder room. I take the hand towel from its ring on the wall and wet it under the tap of the small hand basin. Then I go back to the living room.

I uncap the bottle of water and hand it to him with the instruction to drink. He does, swallowing almost half the bottle before handing it back. I set it on the coffee table before sitting beside him. "Keep your eyes closed," I whisper as I put my hand to his shoulder and settle him as far back as he'll go against the back of the sofa.

I lay the cloth against his forehead and once it's lying there of its own accord I pull his right hand into my lap. He flinches at the contact and I whisper that everything's alright, that I won't hurt him, as I begin to rub my thumbs into the web of skin between his index finger and thumb.

I rub hard, knowing how pressure points work.

He groans, long and low, but I keep rubbing. Slowly but firmly I push into that pad of flesh.

"You didn't have headaches when I knew you," I whisper as I rub. "You didn't drink very much either," I tell him gently. "Your bodyguard didn't like alcohol, he said it made his brain fuzzy and he made bad decisions when he drank."

"I don't remember," he moans.

"Shhh," I coo as I pull his other hand into my lap and begin rubbing that one. "I know you don't remember, but I'd like you to," I say gently. "He was a good man, your bodyguard. Strong and loyal and he loved you. Would've done anything for you, and did," I say, trying to keep the hitch of emotion from my voice as I rub his hand.

"I don't remember," he moans again.

"I know," I say again as I begin to dig the pads of my fingers into his. "He was there, you know, he was there the day you got the nod to be James Goodall again for the second film. He was so proud of you, so proud of how hard you'd worked to get the role."

"I don't remember," he slurs as his breathing deepens.

"I know you don't," I say for what felt like the hundredth time.

Emmett POV

"Look at that," I say to Jasper as I point to the monitor beside him.

He looks up and whistles through his teeth. "Cosy," he mumbles before returning his attention back to his own screen.

"Not cosy," I say firmly, "peaceful."

And they did look peaceful. Bella had his hand in hers and she was rubbing it rhythmically. Ed looked like he might be asleep. I'd never seen anything like it in the five years I'd known him. He'd never looked comfortable, ever, even when he was in his own bed and was safe and warm, he'd never looked as comfortable as he did right then.

I'd turned the audio feed off the instant she'd joined him in the room so I had no clue what they'd talked about, and I didn't want to know. Not really. Not unless he had a turn or it went wrong. If she shared any information that she'd gathered that was well and good, but I wouldn't insist.

"Switch feeds on that monitor, give them some privacy," I tell him. "Now, what did you want to show me from your ID search?" I ask Jasper as I put my own paperwork aside.

He does the same and then pulls up his notes on the screen for me to see.

"I know you'd had no luck finding anything about Edward Cullen," he says as he opens more pages, "and even though we now know that his real surname is Masen there isn't a lot to see," he says. "Apart from the usual shit on the fan websites and the sites linked to his movies that is."

"Yeah," I agree.

"But, now that we know his real name it was pretty simple to find out where he came from," he tells me as he hands me a typed, printed, double spaced report across the desk.

He'd been busy I thought as I read down it. Ed's kindergarten was listed; his elementary school, middle and high schools and a list of some of his classes and the names and addresses of a few classmates were there too.

"How the fuck?" I ask as I turn the page over and read some more.

"Everyone always looks in the official places," he shrugs as though what he'd found was nothing.

"You don't," I said matter of factly.

"Nope," he grins back. "The official places show that Edward Cullen, or Masen rather, doesn't exist, just like we knew they would. But in the last eight years or so there's a far more accurate way to track down information about someone who wants to be invisible."

"He's got an FBI file?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

He laughs then. A full blown belly laugh. "Not that I know of, but I'll be checking that out," he winks, making me shudder to think just what this guy was capable of with a decent computer under his fingertips, or Alice as his ally. "No, it's simpler than that, boss. Social media. Twitter, Facebook, MySpace. School friends reunited is a good one although it's damned tricky to get anyone to tell you anything without stealing the identity of someone they actually knew from school. I prefer forums and chat rooms."

"Forums and chat rooms?" I ask, totally blown away at the cleverness of the ploy.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "When someone wants to disappear they get talked about in forums and chat rooms in past tenses. Like, remember that guy who...sort of thing. But Edward didn't actually disappear. He got famous. And rich. So the talk doesn't go away, it just changes direction."

"How so?" I ask, not following and kicking myself mentally for it.

"There's lots of chatter out there about him from people who knew him as a child, or from school, and even one guy who knew him from a part time job he had while he was at acting school," he tells me as he hands me another report. "Lots of people remember him as Edward Masen and most of them still talk about him, in the context of him being famous now, so it wasn't too hard to put names to faces and work out who and when they knew him from reading their posts."

"Anything that will help us now?" I ask as I skim the report.

"Not really," he says disappointedly. "I've managed to trace a few people who said they were his friends in high school, and that one guy who worked with him, but not anyone who can help us now I don't think."

"What about his parents?" I ask.

"Ahhh, they're a pretty open book," he tells me as he shuffles pages at his elbow before handing me one. "They're registered on nearly all the official fan sites and they're members of all the websites that review movies and actors. They follow pretty closely. There are a lot of messages for him to contact them any way he can and a lot of Facebook posts wishing him a happy birthday, a nice Christmas, things like that."

"They've got to be going out of their minds," I say sadly as I read the report.

"Probably," he agrees. "They still haven't touched that money you put into their account the other day."

"Shit," I mutter darkly. "I'm going to give Alice a call and see if she has time to meet with you," I tell him as I set the reports into a folder.

"She's the one who ran the license for me that day," he grinned.

"She's sneaky as fuck," I chuckle, "I think you two will get on pretty well."

"I'm not sneaky," he protests jovially, "I'm thorough."

"That you are, my friend, that you are," I agree. "Go and meet with her at her place so you can see the set up she's got."

"You set it up and I'll meet her wherever," he shrugs.

"Done," I tell him. "Can you see if you can find anything at all about other employees that might have worked for Ed, or Charlie, around the time of his death? I've never been able to find anything but you might have more luck Mr Forums and Chatrooms," I chuckle. "And while you're digging, see if you can find out if Ed ever made it to the San Diego Comicon the year Charlie died."

"On it, boss," he grins as he begins clicking away at the keyboard again.

I'm about to ask him to get a financial history organised on the Masens for when he sees Alice when the front gate buzzer goes. "Oh fuck," I mutter as I get a look at the car that's sitting at the gates.

"Who's that?"

"That's the antichrist," I hiss. "That's Tanya fucking Denali."

BPOV

He's so peaceful as he sleeps. His lips are slack and his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids as he dreams. I hope they're nice dreams I think as I set his hand back into his lap and remove the towel from his forehead.

He snuffles then shifts a little, sort of burrowing back into the sofa a little more and I wonder if he's cold. There's nothing in the room to cover him with so I take the towel back to the kitchen and hang it over the oven door handle to dry, then I go in search of a linen cupboard.

I find the butler's pantry and go through it to a huge laundry room. It's spotless. Gleaming stainless steel appliances and plain white counter tops. I open each of the doors on the enormous cupboards and hit pay dirt on the third one.

I pull down a throw rug and go back to the living room. He's curled himself onto his side and is snoring gently. I can't help but smile down at him. He looks like a little boy taking his mid morning nap.

I cover him gently with the blanket and do my best to tuck it in around him without waking him. I sit at his feet and lean my head back against the back of the sofa. I close my eyes, hoping to rest a little myself after a bad night's sleep.

I come awake with a jolt some time later, disoriented and frightened, at the sound of shouting.

"You can't just barge in there," I hear a male shouting as I spring to my feet, disturbing Edward beside me.

"He's my client, I can go where I like," a woman screeches back.

I know that voice. Edward seems to as well. He's on his feet then too, his eyes searching for...probably an escape I think to myself as I grab my purse and clutch it to my chest.

The telltale sound of heels clicking on tile reaches us and we both brace for her arrival into the living room. I can see Edward tensing out of the corner of my eye and I instantly feel sorry for him. Tanya Denali was a mean, overbearing control freak and her catching me here was going to be awful.

She comes into the room like a black mist. Her strawberry blonde mane flying behind her, her piercing almost black eyes trained right on me as she comes to a halt behind the sofa.

"How..." she begins before Emmett places one of his very large hands on her forearm.

"It's none of your business," he hisses into her ear.

I watch as she softens her stance and her facial features visibly. She's still pissed, oh yeah, she's plenty pissed, but she can't let it show and I know why.

"Isabella," she simpers. "How lovely to see you again."

"Tanya," is all I can muster as I begin to move past Edward and towards the nearest exit. "I have to go," I mumble as I get closer to Emmett.

"Edward, why don't you show Miss Swan out and I'll make Miss Denali comfortable," Emmett suggests through gritted teeth.

Edward looks shell shocked. Dazed. I watch, annoyed, as he rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. I'd only just gotten rid of that headache for him I want to shout.

He raises his eyes to mine, nods minutely, and then comes to my side. "I'll see you out," he mumbles beside me.

"Bye Emmett," I say softly, ignoring Tanya completely.

"Thanks for stopping by," Emmett says through his still gritted teeth.

I follow Edward out of the room. He holds the front door open for me and I rush past, eager to be out of the house now. I think he's stayed at the door but when I've pulled my keys from my bag and used the clicker to unlock the car he's there, at my side, opening the door for me.

"Thank you," he murmurs softly by my ear.

I don't know what he's thanking me for and I can't find my voice right then so I simply nod and get into my car. He closes the door for me after I've got my seatbelt on and just as I'm wondering how I'm going to get the gates to open they open on their own.

I look in the rearview mirror and see Jasper standing at the office window, his hand raised as a goodbye.

I raise mine, hoping he can see it, and as soon as the gates are fully open I flee.

EPOV

I watch her turn at the street and can't help but sigh.

Tanya looked about ready to kill as she'd laid eyes on the girl and I had no clue why. But then, I didn't have much of a clue about anything anymore. The whole world could be going to pot around me and I'd be oblivious.

For a brief, blissful time I'd been headache free thanks to the magical hands of Bella but now I could feel it thumping its tune against my temples again.

I stalk back into the house, angry at having been disturbed from the first decent sleep I'd had in...well, I didn't know how long, but it was a long time.

"I did not give my permission for that woman to be in this house," I hear Tanya hissing as I go back towards the living room.

"Edward doesn't need anyone's permission to have a guest in his own home," Emmett rightly points out.

"That woman has contacted me weekly for months now," Tanya hisses. "She couldn't give me any reason for her needing an audience with him so I've refused every time only to show up here today and see her curled up to him on the sofa!"

"Is there a problem?" I ask as I take a seat in an armchair.

Tanya turns to me in a rush, her cheeks flushing with what looks like anger but could just as well be embarrassment. "Of course not, darling," she simpers. "I'm just doing my job and keeping the wolves from your door," she purrs.

"I don't know any wolves," I tell her pointedly as she too sits in an armchair. "What do you need from me today?" I ask, hoping she's gotten the message that I didn't wish to discuss Isabella Swan with her.

She looks to Emmett before turning back to me. "Just some signatures, darling," she drawls as she reaches into her cavernous satchel and lifts a stack of folders out.

"Grab me a pen, Em?" I ask as I take the first sheet from her. I take the proffered pen and start signing.

I don't even bother to read what she's given me anymore. I don't care about any of it.

When I'm done I stand, hoping she will too. She doesn't and I can feel anger rising inside me again. "I'm busy, Tanya," I tell her firmly but still she doesn't rise from the god dammed armchair.

Once again she looks to Emmett before addressing me. "It's my job to make sure that only people with legitimate reasons to see you get past your gates, darling," she says, tilting her head to the side and plastering that awful, fake concerned look on her face that I'd seen so often.

"She has a legitimate reason," I tell her. It wasn't a lie; at least I didn't think it was. I didn't know what she wanted with me but Emmett must.

He wouldn't have let her into my home if she didn't give him a damn good reason for it. I trusted Em.

"She couldn't give me one," Tanya all but snarls before catching herself and smiling at me.

"She gave me one," I lie. I have no idea why I'm covering for Bella Swan, but I feel the need to anyway.

"May I ask what that is?"

I look to Emmett who is standing by her left shoulder. He shakes his head minutely at me. "No," I say simply.

"That is unacceptable," Tanya screeches as she finally gets to her feet.

Emmett has his hand on her shoulder in a heartbeat, his eyes wide with concern for me. I'm right to trust him. He's never done anything to make me doubt that trust so I know that whatever the reason Isabella Swan has given him for a piece of my time it's nothing that can hurt me.

I can feel the anger getting stronger, hotter, and my body begins to shake with it. I know I'm clenching my fists at my sides but I can't control them. My brain is chanting again. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, and I don't know why. But it makes me angrier.

"You're my manager, not my fucking keeper, Tanya," I snarl at her.

She's shocked. I can see it in her eyes. But she also knows when she's beaten. She cranes her neck and Emmett takes his hand down off her shoulder as she does. She lowers her eyes and when she returns them to mine they are cold, calculating and utterly ruthless.

The violent red slash of her mouth draws upwards into a cruel smile.

"I keep many things for you, darling," she says, almost unable to keep from spitting the last word through her pursed lips. "I keep you in work. I keep you in money. I keep you famous. Don't forget that. I'll show myself out," she adds before striding out of the room.

Emmett catches me as I collapse back onto the sofa. "Let it go," he begs as he helps me to lie down. "Just let it all go."

Emmett POV

While Edward was seeing Bella out Tanya had let fly.

She'd accused me of going behind her back and admitting Bella into the house against her express wishes. She'd screamed and shouted that Bella was dangerous, that she had been harassing her, Tanya, for months trying to gain access to Edward and that by letting her into the house I was personally responsible for any problems any association between the two of them would bring.

And she was dead sure there would be problems.

When I'd pressed her for details she clammed right up.

She'd changed tack and gone on to inform me that it was she, Tanya, who employed me and that if I wanted to see out the remainder of my contract I should not allow Edward out of my sight and keep Bella away from him.

She hadn't bothered to veil the threat. She hadn't bothered to sugar coat it and she hadn't been smart enough to cover her reaction to seeing Bella.

Tanya had been scared.

Of what I had no clue, but she'd just given me reason enough to check her out. Something I'd never done before, not deeply.

Edward sobbed for a good twenty minutes after she left. His mumbles became more slurred until he was completely incoherent to me. I carried him to his bathroom, knowing what would come next. He retched for what felt like an age and then eventually threw up before collapsing against me.

I put him into his bed, set a glass of water on the bedside cabinet and hoped he'd sleep off his headache and his fear.

Then I marched through the house towards my office with my head full of venomous thoughts about Tanya Denali.

A/N: Thank you for reading.

Please review.