I do not own any of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight characters, settings, etc. I do not own the movie, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which is mentioned in this chapter. Oh, and from the last chapter, I don't own the AIM instant messenger. I think that's all.
~Bella
"What happened that day?" he asked me. He sounded curious to know how my father was arrested. Also, the look in his eyes showed concern, like he wanted to help. I hadn't seen that in a person's eyes in so long, so I trusted him and decided to tell him. I took a deep breath.
"It was a normal day…at least, normal for me. For some others, not that normal. My dad was being his usual drunken self, smashing plates and yelling at us. When he was about to hurt my mom, I went to the kitchen and called the police…he was about to kill her…"
"Then what?" he asked after a minute.
"The police came in time."
He nodded.
"He promised to come back for his revenge one day…and I guess now's when he meant." My eyes widened as I looked down at the ground. I looked back up at him; his eyes were kind. I knew it from looking at him. I could tell when a person meant their kindness by the look in their eyes; I'd seen the not-so-kind side of people before. That was in their eyes as well.
"He won't get to you," he told me, looking stern. "I won't let him."
I snorted.
"What?"
"I just…haven't you always hated me? Why are you being so nice?" I've asked him before, but I knew there must have been some other kind of answer.
He was silent for a minute. "I never hated you." He paused, looking like he wanted to say more. Then, he said, "You should go to sleep. It's late."
"You're not my parent." I grinned. "Or my brother."
"Well…I'm giving you advice. As a friend." He stood and headed toward the doorway. "See you tomorrow."
"'Kay." I said quietly. He left the room, shutting the door behind me, leaving me alone to think. That was what was not good. Whenever I had time to think, I'd think of memories of the past. I did not want that to happen. But it did.
"What did you get?" my dad asked, holding the paper right in front of me. I'd brought home an F on a History paper. He'd taken it when I first walked in the door holding it. I didn't know why he cared about my grades…he didn't care about me. Why would he care, then?
"It makes me look bad when you get bad grades!" he yelled. Oh, that was why. He needed to look good.
"Sorry," I muttered, angry. I was annoyed that he was freaking out over one bad grade. I went to take the paper back from him, but he grabbed my wrist tightly, cutting off the circulation.
"Let go!" I told him, trying to fight the pain in my arm.
He pressed his finger nails in my arm more. I winced.
My mom walked into the house, home from work. "What are you doing?" she asked my dad.
He let go of my arm, finally causing relief to the pain. I noticed the markings on my arm now. They were red and hurting. He turned to my mom furiously. What surprised me was how he wasn't even drunk and he was acting this way. I guess it was his new way of being now. "What am I doing? You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
"Calm down, Char." My mom said nervously. I remembered her calling him "Char" all the time when I was little. When they were in love. It wasn't like that anymore. Sure, my mom would say, "I love you," but it would be because he forced her to. Forced love was different than real love.
"Calm down? I'm perfectly calm!"
His fist hitting her in the eye was his way of welcoming her home.
Curled up in bed, I tried to force myself not to be scared of someone who wasn't even there. He's not here, he's not coming, I told myself. He won't come. Ever.
I finally drifted off to sleep, around four in the morning, probably.
The next day was Saturday. It seemed like so long ago I was shopping with Jessica and Angela. As people say, time passes by fast when you're having fun. I was not having fun, which led to the slow days.
I woke up a little after eleven. I went downstairs and found a note on the kitchen counter.
Bella,
Edward, Carlisle, and I had some errands to run. We'll see you around eight tonight.
-Esme
Eight? What errands took that long? I shrugged, figuring it was just a lot of shopping. I went to get the milk to make cereal.
Then it hit me.
They were probably going to the police station to look for evidence toward my dad. They were going to answer questions. About me. About everything. I dropped the milk after this realization. I'd forgotten for a second that my dad was somewhere, maybe somewhere nearby.
Maybe right outside…
I scrambled to clean up the milk, picking up a paper towel and mopping up the milk. Second time in a couple of days I spilt milk. Maybe now I would cry over it.
I closed the blinds of all the windows with the thought in my head that he could be here. I got cereal-without spilling the milk again-and clicked the TV on. The news was on…the Forks News. Since this town was very small, there weren't many interesting stories. Just things like, "New school textbooks set to arrive!", which personally bored me. But the headline of this story got my attention. Which is what news casters are supposed to do, correct?
LOCAL HIGHSCHOOL GIRL'S FATHER AT LARGE.
The news lady continued with the story: "Breaking news. Once Chief of Police, Charlie Swan, has escaped after 6 years in prison. Relatives of Mr. Swan are his ex-wife, Renee, and daughter, whose name has been asked not to be given. She is not living with Renee presently. Police are making sure both Renee and her daughter are safe where they are. If you have any information on Mr. Swan's whereabouts, contact your local police station immediately. Back to you, Diane."
"Diane" continued to talk about the latest kindergarten play that was "a local hit". Why would they not just give my name? It was obvious, anyway. Now everyone definitely knew. I'd bet every adult in Forks watched the news. And they all knew the Swans, even from years ago.
At the end of the program, they listed a phone number for where you can call if you had any information on Mr. Swan. I remembered the number after looking at it several times. I also remembered I'd written down the number of that person who had called me before I knew about this.
I had some phone calls to make.
I dialed the number from the news, since I would forget that first. I didn't write it down. It rang several times, and someone picked up. It sounded busy; I heard phones ringing everywhere.
"Hello?" the voice asked.
"Hi, I would like to ask you something."
"Sure."
"It's about Mr. Swan. Have you found anything?"
He was quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry, we don't know anything about that. We just look for information regarding him."
"Oh. All right. Thanks, anyway."
"Who is this calling?"
Without thinking, I hung up. I didn't want to explain myself or why I was calling. He'd probably tell me, "Don't worry about it. Just be happy." I couldn't not worry about it. It was a big situation.
I went up to my room, leaving my bowl of cereal on the coffee table and the TV on. I opened the drawer where I kept the phone number I'd written down and brought it downstairs. I dialed.
"…Detective Robinson, how may I help you?" a quieted voice asked. More phones rang in the background. His voice sounded like he had a cold.
"Hi, um, could you give me information about Mr. Charlie Swan? Have you found anything?" I made my voice sound grown-up.
"Who is calling?"
"Um…" I thought quick. "Esme Cullen. I believe we've spoken before."
"Yes. I thought you were coming in later today?"
"Yes, I am. I was just curious."
"Well, we've tested a place where someone believed to have seen him. In another town nearby. Port Angeles. By an alleyway. We found his fingerprints on a garbage can down that alleyway. Seems like he was hiding there for some time and then left. But we know he's been there."
Alleyway. Port Angeles. That was where we'd gone shopping. Where I'd seen someone watching me…
"Bella was there a few days ago, Detective."
He sounded surprised. "She was? Well, I suppose that makes sense then. Since she was there-"
"Do you believe he's following her? Please tell me he isn't."
"Well…we're not positive, but now with this as well, it kind of looks like it." There was a pause and someone's voice. "Can we speak about this later? I'll give you the whole story again and we will talk about it. I have to go."
"Okay. Thank you, Detective."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Cullen."
Dial tone. I hung up the phone and sat down, nervous. My father had been watching me right there while I was out with my friends shopping. He was only a few feet away. A few feet away! And that was when Edward came to pick me up. He knew Edward now. He knew he knew me.
I tried calming myself down by watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off, a movie I usually found particularly funny. But today I didn't laugh once while watching it. I could barely even see the screen with the tears fogging my vision. I let them fall as I watched them drive in that fancy car they got a hold of.
I'd faked sick once, like Ferris. Except, I didn't get to do whatever I wanted. My dad had been home that day, surprisingly. That was not part of the plan I had. I was just going to hang out all day, watch TV. But instead, he bossed me around and hit me whenever I did something wrong.
Everything I did was wrong when he was there.
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