Chapter Seven: On The Prowl

Columbus, Ohio, 1927

Edward

I watched the city of Columbus, Ohio bustle with life as I sat in the shade of a green coloured façade outside a café, pretending to sip a cup of tea that sat on the table in front of me. I watched the passerby's as they went on with their daily lives distracted from their thoughts by the feeling of freedom what blew in my face with the soft breeze. After my long time deciding my future path, it was liberating to finally put it into action. Columbus was harder to find that I had initially thought it would be, but with aid of a map that I'd kept in a bag hidden a few miles from the house, I managed to navigate my way through the forests, always keeping near the main roads.

I gained a newfound appreciation for my creator, having always taken for granted his impeccable sense of direction and thoughtful planning. The hours I had spent out on my own had shown me just how reliant I'd come to be on him. It was due time I became reliant only on myself.

At the café, I was biding my time until the clouds covered the sun, which streamed down and coated the street in rays that would send my crystal-like skin into a sparking mess. All though the smell of the tea I was pretending to sip was more putrid than stale deer's blood, I didn't much fancy lingering around in shadows like a fiend, so I chose the lesser of two evils – boiled leaves.

A few women walked by with wide smiles and flirtatious expressions, but I didn't pay them much attention, partly because I wasn't interested in them, and partly because I knew what activity the following days would see me doing, and those silly women should not want the attention of a vampire. I picked my teacup up, and brought it to my lips, pretending to take a sip, acting normal for the eyes that were watching me through the glass of the café. After gently placing it back on the saucer after not consuming any of it at all, I reached down to the backpack that was resting at my feet.

I flicked open the flap of the dark brown bag, and pulled out a thick phonebook and a map of the town. I had little idea of where I would find Charles Evenson. There were only few things that I knew about him from Esme's memories and my own investigations. I knew when he married Esme he was quite a bit older than her, he was tall, but not as tall as myself, and he was strong, but not as strong as Carlisle would have been as a human. From my brief encounter with him in New York I knew his voice, both mental and physical, was plain and unremarkable, so much so, I could not be comfortable pulling it out of a crowd. His physical appearance, all though always covered in darkness in the haze of Esme's human memories, was plain. It was not a great deal to go on at all. And that left me with the smallest snippets of insignificant details. He always sat in the living room, and he liked to drink alcohol. He liked to play football, until his hip was badly injured during a match in the war. He'd never let Esme read any books, all though he'd allow his friend's wives to give them to her. He liked a particular brand of tea from a neighbouring town and would never be happy unless Esme provided that for him. He was the manager of a small business in town. His father was friends with Esme's father, all though I had little idea how they knew each other. I knew few names of close friends, Michael, Andrew, John, Darlene, Lola, and Richard. He liked his steak rare, and he hated chicken. Like most of the population, he had brown eyes. He had probably remarried, and he might even be a father. His hair was short, all though I wasn't sure of the colour. He was evil. That was about it.

So, despite having all that unhelpful knowledge, I had no idea where Charles Evenson would be. Nor did I have any idea as to where I should begin my search for him, I only had options.

I placed the thick phonebook on the table, and leafed through the pages until I found the section for last names beginning with E. There were far more possible candidates than I would have liked, and even possibly more that were unlisted. In a city with a population of around two hundred and fifty thousand people, I expected the result I got, so I narrowed my pool of possible candidates – or should I say, suspects – by geographical likeliness. Those who lived nearest the central business district made their way onto my list, which happened to comprise of seven people in the end. There was one Charles Evenson, three C. Evenson's, two Charles E.'s, and one C.E. all scattered throughout the city. I memorized each of their addresses, and located each on the map, still unsure of what my next steps may be. I momentarily toyed with the idea of telephoning each and every one of my possible candidates and questioning them about their lives, I quickly decided against it, for it would be considered too strange.

That left me with a single idea as to where I should begin: stalking.

I shut the phonebook carelessly with a thump, and slotted back into my bag, before I pretended to take another sip of the horrid contaminated water that humans called tea. I looked out to the street, glad to see that the sun had hidden beneath the cloud cover making it safe for me to continue meandering town. All though I much preferred to begin my investigation at night, so not to arouse suspicion while lingering in front of strangers houses, I'd nothing better to do, so I left a tip on the table with my full cup of tea, and gracefully rose, slinging the backpack over my shoulder and navigating my way into the crowds that wandered down the sidewalk, every bit aware of the ogling eyes from inside the little café that watched me walk away.

Columbus was a pretty city, the parks around the river were lovely for long days spent mulling around like a few gaggles of young women did, and perhaps if I had been without a thing to do, I would have found a nice shady spot by the riverbank to watch the world go by, or read a book. I wasn't much in the mood for singing birds and rushing water, however; I was in the mood for discoveries. So I followed the map in my mind, taking shortcuts down alleyways, or lingering in the shade of brightly coloured facades every time the sun's rays burst through the wispy white clouds.

I whistled quietly to myself sometimes when human's eyes lingered for far too long, pretending to be an adolescent wanderer or runaway or something of the sort, until the curiosity in their minds twisted into a resolve upon them deciding what my story was for me. That was something I'd never been able to understand about the human race, how they all seemed to believe they were so qualified to concoct another's life story without even uttering a greeting first. Be that as it may, it worked in my favour on most occasions.

As I reached the streets of the suburbs, the crowds thinned, bringing me a reprieve and some peace from the loud noises. It did not, however, bring any peace for me when I located the houses my subjects lived in a realised that I could only rule two suspects off my list, bringing it down to four. The first obvious no, was Charles E who turned out to be Charles Earl, a rich retiree living in a brown stone mansion on the outskirts of town. The second was the C.E whose real name was Collin East, an unemployed man living in a fourth floor apartment who seemed to think he ran a home-based charity for stray cats with his mother. The remaining four lived in four different neighbourhoods, but had very similar, red brick, single-family homes on nice streets with well-kept lawns. Their houses were empty, aside from one in Old Oaks, where a woman was making apple pie, not thinking about much aside from food. All though I lingered, she moved on to fretting over her beef stew. That was the home of the only Charles Evenson listed in the phonebook.

I was a little disappointed as I made my way back downtown, but I'd decided to continue my stalking efforts during the night, and I figured I might as well use the remaining hours of daylight to run a few errands. It had occurred to me while on my way to the Northern suburbs of town, Harrison West and Victorian Village, that once I'd fulfilled my goal in Columbus, it would be difficult for me to walk down the streets during the day because of my eyes. All though people all ready stared as me as much as they would eye a celebrity, scarlet eyes would be highly unsettling. It was then that I wandered past a magazine with a drawing of some film star on it, wearing some spectacles they called 'sunglasses,' and I knew I had to invest in a pair. If people all ready gazed at me as though I was in show business, I'd may as well take it for what it was worth, and look the part – it was a win win situation. The problem would be finding such an uncommon item.

The afternoon sun still tried to break through the cloud cover as I searched the shop windows for any sign of the items I desired. I wandered in the chatting crowds nearly inconspicuously, almost as if I was one of them, but I could not deny the dull burning in my throat telling me soon I would need to find my target, or retreat to the forests for another unpleasant hunting experience. Luckily, I found some sunglasses before the shops closed, and all though they cost me an arm and a leg, unless I broke them, they would be a valuable tool for me. I also got myself a new hat, hoping that my mysterious appearance would detract from the attraction that humans seemed to feel toward vampires.

As the clock neared five, the sun sunk lower in the sky, and the crowds began to thin before closing time, I made my way down a quiet little street of small stores, feeling the slightest pang of loneliness. In the six years that hat passed since Esme joined our family I had rarely been out in town around the stores at such a late hour without her arm wrapped in mine and her quiet mental voice in my mind delightfully thinking about returning home to Carlisle. I missed her all ready. But then, maybe it wasn't because of the feeling of the day winding down, but rather because I eyed in the glass window of a little bookstore across the street, sitting underneath the golden letters Little Darling's Bookshop, the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and Esme had been waiting for such a collection to be published for years. She had every single story; all in separate issues of The Strand, sitting in her room back home... I mean, back at her home in Cambridge, the place that was no longer my home.

On a whim, I ducked across the street to gaze at the book in the window, thinking about how I'd promised them I'd write from Columbus in the note I left. I'd spent a great deal of time thinking about what I would put in the letter that I promised to send, but I'd yet to come up with anything that would convey my message without causing too much hurt. Perhaps sending that book would be enough for them to know I was in Esme's hometown, without explicitly saying It's done. You're free. You never have to worry about him again. I stared at the thick leather volume for a short while, before deciding that it might just be the right idea, and quickly ducking up the steps toward the door before the shop could close.

A little bell rang out as I entered the quiet store, and quiet voices reached their way into my mind. The bookstore seemed to have quite the few late shoppers in amongst its tall bookshelves. An elderly couple stood nearby the door murmuring over a recipe book, while someone with a British accent in the back was talking about when he purchased the store and whom he named it after, but other than that, the store was silent. The few customers by the door looked my way to see who the new intruder was, but they soon smiled and turned back to their books, as I quietly wandered over to the stand by the window.

When I reached the display, I smiled down at the book, gathering its smooth cover into my marble hands. I leafed through the pages, checking to see if all of the stories were in there, I was surprised to see that they were not.

"Volume two comes out later this year," a friendly voice murmured from behind me. I turned around briefly to smile slightly at the middle-aged shopkeeper as I nodded.

"Thank you," I murmured, flicking back to the contents to see if Esme's favourite was in there.

"Do you need help with anything?" The man wondered again, as I saw Esme's favourite was lacking from the page.

"Will there be any more than two volumes?" I wondered, looking back at the man with light brown hair, which was thinning in the middle.

He smiled and shook his head, as wrinkles appeared by the corners of his brown eyes, "No. Just the two."

"Thank you," I smiled back, before turning back to the book in my hands, and closing the cover. I ran my fingertips over the words as I contemplated wether or not I should purchase the book.

"Of course, I'm happy to help." The shopkeeper murmured, "Call out if you need anything else." He turned around a shuffled away, depending on his left leg a little more than his right, as I placed the book back down on the display. Deciding to decide later.

With a sigh, I turned back around and exited the shop. Eyeing the book longingly as I continued down the street, not quite sure where I was going. I wandered for a little while longer, before finding a nice patch of shade underneath a tree by the river as the sun burst through the cloud cover once more, as it set.

Twilight came slowly, but it lingered for a while as I remained beneath the tree by the lake. By the time that dusk set in, the city was quiet, and with the threat of the sun gone for hours on end it was time to start my nightly rotation. I soundlessly jumped up from my spot beneath the tree in the empty park, swung my backpack onto my back, and dashed to the nearest building. It was the cliche three-story brick building that most of the small stores were, and I scaled it easily. Heaving myself up onto the roof, I took a moment to look around the city from my new vantage, there were buildings that were taller than the one I was, but I still got a good view of the cityscape. It was beautiful. I allowed myself a little grin and the feeling of liberation I experienced standing on that roof, I was finally doing something with my time that would help. With that thought, and no further ado, I sprinted off across the roof jumping from one building to another, until I reached the first neighbourhood of homes.

The first house I stopped at was in Old Oaks – the home of Charles Evenson, where a woman made beef stew for dinner. The female was busy finishing her apple pie for dessert in the kitchen while a male was reading the newspaper in the living room. The woman was worried that her pie wouldn't taste very nice, while the man wondered what was taking so long. There was impatience in his mind, but I could not detect any edge of anger. I listened until the food was served, and even though the man didn't like it, he told her that it was nice. That didn't seem a great deal like Charles, but I couldn't rule it out.

My next stop was the house in Near East. The inhabitants were struggling to get their children to bed. The man was yelling at his son, as his wife tried to catch the daughter who was running around the dining table. From my perch on the neighbour's roof I fervently hoped that this was not Charles Evenson, because I didn't like the thought of leaving children fatherless. But when the man hit his son, and the woman cried out hysterically, "Charles, please don't!" I realised that the children may be better off without him. But before I jumped to any conclusions, I tried to figure out the ages of their children. It'd only been around seven years since Esme left, so the children would have to be around or under six years old. They got them to bed successfully, and no drama ensued afterward, so I moved on to my next house.

In Victorian Village the inhabitants were asleep. One was dreaming about shoes, and the other's mind was a mess of colours. I couldn't quite pick out who was the husband, and who was the wife, I left quickly, for there was nothing interesting for me to see.

I left for Harrison West next, but all was quiet, only a female was home, sitting in a chair upstairs, knitting. I lingered for a while, but no one returned home, so I began my circuit once more, over in Old Oaks.

I circled around for hours, spending the whole night on neighbours' rooftops listening to the dreams of the inhabitants. C. Evenson from Harrison West arrived home sometime between midnight and four-am while I was visiting the others. He was sound asleep dreaming dreamless dreams when I arrived back at his house, and his wife's dreams about hats a mittens gave me no insights into their relationship at all.

I left their house at quarter-past four, briefly stopping by the place in Old Oaks, which was still quiet, before heading to Near East where I came to my first revelation of the entire night.

The Charles that hit his son, who happened to be seven years old, was not the Charles Evenson that I was searching for. In fact, his name was Charles Everton and he worked in a factory, from five in the morning until seven at night. I caught him right at he was leaving his house at four-thirty and followed him all the way to work, where he was greeted by his colleagues as they entered the imposing building.

I sighed exasperatedly as they called him "Mr. Everton," for he was my prime suspect. Pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling like I'd never be able to find the man I was looking for, I headed back to the next stop on my circle, in Victorian Village. I remained on my rotation for the rest of the dark hours of the early morning, letting my frustration eat away at me. I stayed a little too long at the house in Old Oaks, who were early risers, so much so, that I missed both the suspects from Harrison West and Victorian Village leaving in the morning. I did catch the man from Old Oaks, who looked to be in his thirties, as he left for work. I followed him into town and lingered in an alley near the candle shop that he unlocked and went into.

When the clock struck nine o'clock, he turned the little notice in the doorway from 'closed' to 'open' and so I walked on in. There was nothing different about the storefront from any of the other stores down the small street. It had a glass window with the store's name written in gold writing upon it, and a display showing the products to the outside world. It did smell quite nice as I walked in, however, albeit a little overpowering. The little bell above the door chimed, and I heard someone stand from out the back, making their way to the front room.

I looked around as I entered the small, square store, to see that every wall was lined with candles, candlesticks and candleholders. I had always thought that candles were going out of use thanks to electricity but the few moments I spent in that store told me something completely different. It was a little eccentric with all of its colours and all of its smells but it was the kind of store I could imagine Esme falling in love with. For that reason, among others, I did hope Charles didn't work here.

The footsteps made it to the front room, and I tore my eyes away from display to see the man whom I might soon kill. He was tall; nearly my height, with a medium build and curious brown eyes. His hair was a very dark shade of brown, and he definitely looked to be in his thirties. Was that too young for Charles?

"Hello," he smiled, "Welcome to The Candle Shop. Is there anything in particular that I can help you with today?" His voice was nondescript, ordinary, plain, and his thoughts gave nothing away, he was only taking in my unusual appearance.

"I'm just looking for something in particular," I replied.

"And what is that?" He wondered, shuffling around the counter to come closer to me.

Before I left home, Carlisle had taken to reading a lot of those psychology journals, and during my being obsessed with his thoughts I picked up a lot of what he was reading. All though some of it made very little sense, and was not at all what I had experienced from reading the human mind, there were a few things that I agreed with. Such as, the ease of which one can manipulate the human consciousness. With a private devious smile, I decided to test out some of my theories on the suspect that stood before me.

"I was looking for something special for my wife," I murmured, placing emphasis on the last word.

For a brief second, his mind flashed to a picture of a woman smiling back at him. She was middle-aged with blonde hair and blue eyes. I assumed that this was his wife.

"A yes, something romantic? We have the classic bayberry candles over here," he directed me to a corner where red candles stood proudly.

"I wanted something less traditional. She grew up on a farm, so she's very accustomed to traditional things." I watched his mind carefully as I mentioned her growing up on a farm, but there were no bells of recognition. He didn't associate any memories of farm life with his wife.

"Hmmm," he murmured, looking around, "Perhaps some of our own handmade candles over here?" He wandered over to another display with cream coloured candles, "We squeeze lemon juice in with the wax when we make them, so they smell a little like lemons." He held one up and offered it to me, so I took it with a smile, and brought it up to my nose. Of course, I could all ready smell the lemon from far away, but I assumed it would be faint for a human.

Remembering an insignificant detail about Charles, I murmured, "It smells like that special tea from a nearby town."

He did not think of any special tea as I assumed Charles would have, so I was beginning to think that this was not the man I was looking for.

"I think she'll like this," I murmured, "Do you have any other flavours?"

He nodded, with a small smile and led me over to another display. I picked up a candle and sniffed it, then grimaced.

"This reminds me of the war. We used to play football near bushes like these." I watched his mind carefully, but with the memory that came, of a young English woman with a disgusted expression upon her face shoving a white feather into his hand, I concluded that this was not Charles Evenson. "I think she'll like it though. In fact, I'll take one of each of your handmade candles."

The man looked surprised, but slowly a bright grin spread across his face.

"Of course! Of course!" He was sent into some kind of flurry as he hurried around the shop grabbing candles from nearly every display and placing them on the counter. I watched on dubiously wondering if I was going to have enough room in my backpack for all of them.

He saw me eyeing him curiously as he came to a stop behind the counter, panting slightly. His face grew flushed, and the delicious aroma of human blood finally overcame the confusing aroma of the candles. I was very nearly taken by the haze of bloodlust, as I realised just how thirsty I'd let myself become.

"I do apologise, sir." He laughed, bringing me out of my trance, "As you can imagine, candle making isn't the most lucrative business now that the electrics," he said the word with great distain, "Have come in. You have quite made my day with your order."

I gave him a tight smile and cautiously walked forward, nodding, "Happy to help."

He began wrapping the candles after he tallied up the price and I payed, but I could tell I had no hope of fitting them all in my all ready full backpack.

"I say…What was your name again?" I wondered with a smile.

"Mr. Evenson," he replied in the same friendly manner, holding out his hand for me to shake, "Charlie Evenson."

"Is that a nickname?" I wondered with a grin.

He laughed, but shook his head, "No. I'm just Charlie."

"Oh, fair enough. Would you be able to do me quite the favour?" I wondered, grabbing the phonebook from my backpack, "I can't seem to be able to rid myself of this phonebook. Could you dispose of it for me?"

All though he considered my question to be quite odd, he nodded with a smile and took it for me, "Of course. Young chap. Now, here you are," he slid the candles toward me, and I began packing them neatly into my now nearly empty bag, "I hope your young wife enjoys them."

I returned his smile, and closed the bag, swinging it back on my back, I said, "Thanks Charlie," and then headed out the door. My little list, down to two, my backpack filled with things for Esme. All though I had not found Charles, I had succeeded in confirming my suspicions: Minds are, for the most part, painfully predictable places. I had also decided that considering I purchased all the candles for my mother, I'd may as well buy her the book I'd seen the day before also.

So off I headed toward the bookshop I remembered to be a few streets away.

It was by a stroke of sheer dumb luck – or maybe fate again – that I came across the thing that I had been looking for. I happened to be walking down the street in a loud crowd, not listening to anyone's mind in particular, when a highly familiar name came into my mind in a female's voice, … Charles Evenson. I don't understand why he had to do that. He'll lose his job, I swear. I listened intently to the woman's voice, and followed it as best I could, listening as I got louder with every step I took, until I was standing outside another little store, named John's Shoes.

I looked through the window of the store, where there seemed to be a lot of shoes around the walls. I walked up the stairs and welcomed myself in, slightly irritated by the chiming bells that seemed to be in every single store.

Light, and quick footsteps made their way to the front room, as I looked around at all the shiny shoes. The sound of footsteps stopped, as the owner of the feet reached the doorway. I looked up to see a young lady, whose eyes widened considerably when she saw me, and then she grinned as she walked forward toward me.

"Welcome to John's shoes, how may I help you?" She wondered.

When my eyes caught hers she blushed, sending the most delectable aroma through the air, it took every once of control that I had worked for over the past nine years, not to pounce on her right then. I fought through the haze of bloodlust that nearly had me staggering on the spot, just so I could reply. I knew I was thirsty, but I didn't think I was that thirsty.

The woman came closer and I tried not to breathe.

"I was wondering if I could speak to the manager?" I murmured using up a great deal of my air supply.

"Oh uh, well, my family owns this place, so you can talk to me." She grinned; I'd learned many years ago, that using a woman's name while trying to manipulate her into divulging information was a very good method, so I stole a quick glance at her nametag, which read M. James, not giving me much information to use when trying to get information.

"I was actually looking for someone in particular," I replied, deciding to just ask for Charles outright.

Her smile dropped slightly, making her look a little crestfallen, "And who is that?"

"Charles Evenson."

She sighed, her mind formed a picture of her employee and she nodded, "Of course."

What has he done now? She wondered, "I'll get him for you."

She disappeared off into the back, and I waited with anxious anticipation for him to arrive. This could be the moment I'd been waiting for.

"Charles, there's a man out there who wants to see you."

"Who is he?" a plain voice wondered back, sounding a little grumpy.

"I don't know. Never seen him before. Just go, okay? John wants higher sales, and you're the manager so you've got to set a good example."

Charles sighed, "Sure."

There was a quiet scuffle as he stood up from the chair he was sitting on, and headed out toward the store. I held my breath as his footsteps neared.

In the doorway appeared a middle-aged plain looking man with brown eyes and brown hair. He was shorter than me, and bigger also, but not by much. He gave me a faint smile when he saw me, but I got the impression from his face and his thoughts that he wasn't too happy to be there.

"Hello, how can I help you?" He wondered.

I decided I'd play the mind games again, "Hello, my name is Edmund Platt."

His mind was blank, flickering with no recognition at Esme's maiden name. My hopes dropped a little, "I was here for some shoes. For my wedding."

He nodded, expressionless; his mind did not bring up any memory of a wedding when I lingered on the word. "Sure. Black?"

I shrugged, "Is black best? What did you wear on your wedding day?"

His mind was still void of any memories as I probed, "Black."

He walked over to the black shoes and stared at me expectantly, "So, you want black?"

Fighting a growl at the frustration he was causing me, I nodded, "Black is good."

I continued to try and manipulate memories out of him as he showed me shoes, but to no avail. He was a grumpy man who thought of nothing but the seat waiting for him out back.

At one point the door swung open, and a woman waltzed in. "Hey, Darl?" She called out in a southern accent, while Charles showed me shoes, "Where are you?" Her eyes flickered to me, and then to Charles, "Oh, hello Charles."

He flicked her a small, insincere smile, "Hello Lola. How are you?" He didn't seem to like this lady much at all, Here's Mrs. Scrooge again, he thought to himself.

She nodded dismissively, "Good." She turned back toward the door to the back room, "Darl, where are you?"

"I'm out here, Lola!" The young woman from earlier called back. Lola walked on through the doorway and disappeared out back, leaving me thinking about the list of names I knew belonged to Charles' friends.

"How about these?" Charles wondered, holding up a fancy pair of shoes, distracting me. My mind tricks weren't working on him, and the situation was making me feel uncomfortable, so I nodded.

"They look great, I'll take them."

Won't try them on? Oh well. "Sure," he murmured, "I'll ring them up."

I got nothing more from him as I paid, so I left the store with shoes I had no need for and only more suspicions about Charles, no solid facts.

On the way to the bookstore to get Esme's final gift, I decided that I would have to resort to drastic measures to find out which Charles was the Charles I wanted... I would have to go and visit the wives.

I was dangerously thirsty and emotionally tired by the time I got to the bookstore.

As the bell signalled my entrance to the store, quiet, even footsteps made their way from the back room to the room where I was. By the time the shop attendant had reached the main store, I'd all ready grabbed a copy of the book, and was headed to the counter, desperate to get out of the divine smelling small store. The man who greeted me was not the same one from the other day, he was much better looking with ash blonde hair, and grey eyes, and yet he looked oddly familiar. I faintly recalled seeing him out the back of the store last time I visited, but I had been too preoccupied thinking about the books to be worried about the workers in the shop.

"Hello," he grinned, speaking in a thick British accent, "How are you today?"

"I'm very well, thank you," I replied cordially, "And yourself?"

"Never better," he grinned, "Just the one book today?" He wondered, eyeing the leather bound volume in my hands.

"Yes please," I murmured, placing it on the counter, and swinging my bag off my shoulder.

"Of course," he slid the book closer to himself, before grabbing some brown paper to wrap it in. After it was wrapped, he grabbed a pen, and looked up expectantly at me.

"And what was your name?" He wondered.

Slightly stunned by his question, being unprepared for such an enquiry, I subtly looked around the room for any suggestions. Out the corner of my eye a familiar title caught my attention, and privately grinning to myself at the irony, I replied back, "Mr. Stoker."

He grinned, "Thanks Mr. Stoker," he said writing my name down, "I'm Jack, by the way."

I returned his smile and nodded, pulling out my wallet to find he right amount of money for the book. After the transaction was processed, he handed me the book, wrapped in brown paper with the words, Thank you for shopping at Little Darling's Bookstore, Mr. Stoker written atop.

I smiled down at the kind touch before slipping the parcel into my backpack, and looking up at Jack, "I say, where is the nearest post office?" I wondered, my throat burning.

He pictured a small store two streets away, "Just left out the door and take the street on your second right. You'll see it if you stay on the right hand side of the road."

"Thank you very much," I smiled.

"You are very welcome, Mr. Stoker. Have a lovely day," I nodded as he bid me farewell.

I headed for the door, silently thanking the copy of Dracula that sat at the front of a bookshelf near the counter for the name inspiration, as the shop keeper turned around murmuring to himself, "Post office, that reminds me…" he headed out to the back room, calling out to someone, "Darling, did you sort through that new shipment of Being and Time?"

"Chuck's doing it," a female's voice called out in reply, as the little bell rang when I left the store.

The air would have been brisk to humans, but it was warm to me as I turned to the left and headed for the post office. I purchased a big box to put the candles and the book in for Esme, and then posted it off to Massachusetts, unsure of when it would arrive. Then, I headed off back out to Harrison West, to see if I could piece together my puzzle any more. As it would seem, I was in a great deal of luck.

I chose to visit the house in Harrison West first, and unlike the day before, the house was occupied. A woman mulled around in the kitchen, wondering to herself what she was going to have for lunch. I had stowed my bag in a trashcan down an alley, and made sure to wear my new shoes. I walked down the pretty street with perfect lawns and nicely pruned trees with distinction, a sense of purpose; a sense of officialdom.

At number fourteen, I took a brief pause, glancing carefully at the two-storey red brick house, before slowly walking up the path that led to the front door. It was painted black, and made out of some nice wood, which I quickly knocked upon.

The woman inside was surprised at the visitor, but rushed to the door filled with worry. She opened the door quickly, and I got my first sight at Mrs. Evenson. She was a slight woman with a nervous disposition, a little too much powder on her face and excessively warm clothes for the temperature that day. Her top covered the entirety of her neck, and her sleeves reached down to cover her hands. Her hair was done perfectly, and yet it seemed messy, perhaps it was her shaky temperament that made it seem so.

"Hello there," I gave her my very best smile, in hopes of putting her somewhat at ease, "My name is Mr. Stoker. I'm a private detective working with the De Ville Agency. I was wondering if you would be able to tell me if a Mr. Charles Evenson lives here?"

She blinked once, but the moment I said his name, she thought of him. He was definitely a man I had met since arriving in Columbus – brown hair, brown eyes, small smile. Then her mind burst with fear, suspicion, and worry. "Yes, he does," she breathed.

I smiled, carefully watching the dark figure in her mind, "And who are you to him?"

"His wife," her voice was a little more confident that time.

I wasn't surprised, but I acted it, "His wife? Hmm, interesting." Her eyebrows lifted slightly as I spoke, "Would you happen to know where Mr. Evenson currently is?"

She eyed me with suspicion, "At work."

"And where is this work place?" I inquired, sensing her caution would keep her from answering my queries.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" She asked, with narrowed eyes.

I could see she wasn't going to get any more out of her until I answered her question, so I gave her the best answer I could, "I'm investigating a murder, ma'am."

She was taken aback; she straightened up, her eyes widened, and she stepped backward, "A murder? Of whom?"

I watched her curiously, "Mr. Evenson's first wife, Mrs. Evenson."

Her eyebrows pulled together in something akin to offence, "First wife? First wife? What are you talking about?"

I cocked my head to the side, "You are unaware your husband was previously married? Has he ever discussed his marital history with you?"

"No," she shook her head, "But… Murdered? By who?"

"That is what we're trying to find out, ma'am," I smiled.

"And you think Charles can help you?" She wondered, her questions quick, "You think he may have witnessed it?"

"Oh, no ma'am. We think he may have done it. He's our prime suspect. Is there anything you've witnessed or experienced during your marriage that may suggest our suspicions could be correct?"

Her breathing halted for just a moment as she ran through a myriad of memories of a dark figure coming closer to her. Her mind was filled with fear and dread as the figure approached, but she blocked the memories out before the pain began. I stopped a little satisfied smile from spreading on my face, as my body filled with glory and anger, all the while, her mind raced. I have to get out of here, she thought, I can't let… murder.

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed suddenly, "I have to go. I've just remembered, I have a cousin getting married in Florida next week, and I have to get there!" She stepped backwards and began to close the door. I placed my foot on the threshold so it wouldn't shut.

"Mrs. Evenson!" I exclaimed, halting her.

She eyed me with speculation, before divulging some important information, "He works for John, a friend of his, if you really must know. John and Darlene."

I smiled – I knew that name; Esme had mentioned her once before… it had something to do with A Christmas Carol.

"He gets home at twelve thirty for his lunch break, so I really must go. It was good to talk to you, and Mr. Stoker…" she paused, "Thank you," she breathed before shutting the door in my face.

I didn't even get a chance to say thank you in return. I backed away down the steps feeling a little staggered. I half-by wished I could have talked to her longer to be more prepared. She went before I wanted her to go, but she'd all ready given me exactly what I needed.

I knew exactly who Charles Evenson was.

*.*.*

Misty rain fell down before me, as I lingered in the only dry spot down the long dark alleyway, just waiting. I listened to the dripping of some thicker water droplets from the spouting up above me somewhere and the little mice as they scampered around, trying to understand why they were feeling frightened. The sky was star-less, and moon-less and cloudy. To a human, it would have been cold, but to me, it was just right. I'd been standing in the one spot for a few hours, waiting for the only occupant of the store a few shops down to wrap up whatever he was doing and head home. It almost seemed as though he never would, persisting to bang heavy objects around methodically, but I refused to lose hope. And soon, I was rewarded. The banging stopped, and I heard uneven footsteps shuffle around on the hardwood floor for a short while, before they headed for the door. A little bell ran as he exited, and the footsteps made their way down the stairs from the store, and started along the sidewalk. I listened with rapture as they neared, and as soon as they came close enough, I stepped into the light, and purposefully kicked some rubbish tins into a walk. And then, at the mouth of the dark, and damp little alley where I lingered, a silhouette appeared underneath the city light. His face was obscured by the shadow of his hat, and he was relying on his left leg a little too much, gazing down my way to see what the cause of the ruckus was.

There was a moment of absolute silence, as we stared at each other.

"Mr. Stoker is that you?" he wondered, in his familiar voice, and I relaxed my shoulders for effect, then waved, "What on Earth are you doing down there?" He wondered.

He began toward me, limping down the street, and as he neared I caught a glimpse of the friendly smile on the features of the bookshop keeper I met on the very first day as they became clearer through the mist that was falling from the sky.

"Lingering in the cold isn't a grand idea, you know?" He called when he neared, with a little chuckle.

"It's sheltered here," I called back, smiling, "I was waiting for you, actually."

"Me?" He wondered in a quieter voice as he was nearly within reach, his brown eyebrows rose high above his brown eyes.

"Yes, you," I smiled warmly, "Charles Evenson."

His eyebrows pulled down a little as he tried to recall a moment when he told me his name, he couldn't remember one, because there wasn't one, but he dismissed the caution he felt.

"Why were you waiting for me in an alley?" He wondered with a slightly nervous laugh, and I took a moment to fully appreciate the amount of work that must go into creating such a facade. Hatred seeped into my veins, boiling my blood, and I nearly pounced on him there. Finally, finally, finally, the man that ruined my mother's life was standing right in front of me, breathing what would be his last few breaths. I calmed myself a little, I needed to be certain it was him before I killed.

"I had a question about the bookshop." I lied, "It took me a while to figure out how it was named. Do you know what darling sounds like in a British accent?" I wondered with a smile.

He answered me in his head, but he didn't use his words, so I answered my own question for him.

"It sounds like Darlene." There was a brief pause, "That's how the bookshop got its name, isn't it? Because Jack's – or should I say, John's – accent makes the two words sound the same. In reality it's actually Little Darlene's Bookshop."

He grinned, "Well done. Most people think it has something to do with Peter Pan."

"The boy who never grew old," I murmured, "Don't I know what that's like."

"What was that?" He wondered, with his eyebrows crumpling a little.

I shook my head, "It got me thinking about wordplay, and nicknames actually. After all, Darlene's husband is John, who goes by the nickname Jack, and you're Charles, but they call you Chuck. Funny things nicknames, aren't they?"

"Do you know Darlene?" He asked with curiosity.

I shook my head, "I know someone who knew her."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised, "I'd probably know this person too."

"You do," I replied definitively, with a tiny smile as the hatred came back.

"I do?" he was a little confused, "How do you know I do?"

"Because she knows you," I replied back simply, but cryptically.

"What is her name?" He inquired.

I shook my head, "I'll tell you later. I had a few questions I wanted to ask. I'm writing a research paper for my business class at college on small business management. I was wondering if you had any insights."

His brow furrowed, "Are you old enough to be in college?"

I shrugged, "Sure. So I was wondering if I could ask a few questions?"

He was growing suspicious of me, something in his mind was telling him to leave. I found it funny that such a brute was experiencing fear that he didn't understand. "Couldn't we do it at a better time?"

I shook my head, "No, it's due tomorrow."

"Why have you left it so late, boy?" He exclaimed, trying to joke with me.

I shrugged, "Couldn't find any inspiration."

He waved his hand nonchalantly, "Well go on then. But lets walk and talk, my wife is waiting for me."

I nodded, and we started down the alleyway, smiling to myself thinking about how if he made it home - which he wouldn't - he'd be most surprised to find his second wife had left him just like the first.

"What's your role at Darlene's bookshop?" I wondered, knowing the answer.

"I'm the manager."

"Do you have much training?"

He shrugged, "A seminar here and there."

"Like the one in New York, back in '22?"

His brow furrowed, and his mind filled with confusion, before he shook it off and laughed, "What are you, some kind of mind reader boy?"

I joined his mirth with my own chuckles, then muttered, "Yes, something like that."

"Wait a moment!" He exclaimed, recalling that day in New York, "Boy George, I thought you looked familiar! I saw you in New York! In the alleyway. With another man, and a woman."

I smiled slightly in reply, as I stopped walking. "Yes, it seems as though you did."

He grew suspicious again and his heart began to beat quicker with fear. He too stopped walking, and turned to look at me with narrowed eyes. The friendly façade had finally been dropped, and I couldn't believe I didn't recognise that ugly evil sneer earlier, "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your wife's," I stated simply.

His hands balled into fists at his sides, "My wife doesn't know you."

"No, not your new wife, who had coincidentally left you." I shook my head, grinning, "I'm talking about your first wife, who also left you."

He froze for the slightest second before ignoring my first comment and snarling, "She's dead."

I shook my head again slowly, still grinning, "If she was dead, the how would I know about your soccer accident," I gently nudged him in his weak hip, "That caused your limp?" He doubled over for a moment, grasping his hip as his thoughts swam in pain. So maybe it was a vampire nudge, and more of a world champion kick boxer style kick to a human, I might have to work on that.

"You know," I continued conversationally as he tried to ignore the pain and straighten up, "She told me about Darlene. She said that Darlene gave her a copy of A Christmas Carol, but you wouldn't let her keep it would you?"

How does he know that? He wondered as he finally managed to stand up somewhat straight again. His hand still rested on his hip, and he was favouring his other leg even more than before.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what I know," I muttered darkly, loud enough for him to hear.

"My ex-wife is dead," he insisted.

"Really? So you're telling me you didn't even briefly recognise that little wisp of that caramel hair in that alleyway in New York in 1922, that is so singular to Esme Platt?"

How does he know her name? He wondered briefly before thinking back to that day in New York. His memory was foggy, but rather clear for a human, as he remembered turning the corner into the alley to take a shortcut with his new wife. He pictured my face, the memory of my face was clearer than the rest of the scene, only because I was standing right in front of him as he recalled it. He briefly glanced at Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle's head was down, focussed on Esme's obscured face. Charles remembered feeling irritated that we were taking up the alley, and then, for a split second, right as the woman stepped closer to the blonde man's chest, a tiny wisp of hair fell out from beneath her hat. He didn't recognise it immediately, because his first wife was the furthest thing from his mind, but now in hindsight he could see it. The not-quite brown, but not-quite red with a-little-too-much-blonde hair was the exact same colour as hair he'd only ever once seen before in his life. His memory switched to picture Esme as a bride, walking down the aisle to him looking somewhat sombre, and then flicked to their wedding night, but before he could go into any detail, I caught him by the throat and pushed him against a wall so fast he could not see me coming. He hit the wall with a sloppy sounding bang, a few cracks alerted me to some bones breaking, and I reminded myself to be a little more gentle if I wanted to keep my prey alive. His train of thought was derailed, his mind was filled with nothing but panic as he tried to fight my grasp, to no avail.

"What are you?" he managed to choke out.

"Trust me," I grinned ruefully, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He was still trying to fight me as he choked, and his eyes became bloodshot. I loosened my grip on his neck just a little and he gulped down the oxygen.

"Why are you doing this?" he spluttered out.

"Because you hurt someone I love. Someone you should have loved, and you deserve to rot in the fiery pits for that."

"You can't know Es –"

"Don't you dare say her name," I growled, "You lost all right to say her name when you beat her. This is what you get for that. This is justice, Charles Evenson."

His all ready pounding heart broke into a sprint as he broke into a sweat with fear. What is he? He wondered again.

"She's dead," he spat once more, ignoring his fear.

"Actually," I murmured thoughtfully, "She's not... Do you know what she is?"

He didn't reply, so I applied more pressure to his throat.

"I asked you," I growled, "Do you know what she is?"

"She's what?" He choked, trying to breathe under the increased pressure I exerted on his windpipe.

I took a moment to look in his eyes, and grin my very best smile at him, showing two perfect rows of razor sharp teeth, before I moved in a little closer, put my lips at his throat just below his ear, and whispered "She's happy."

A.N. So, did you like the first adventure of Edward Masen: Vampire Detective? That will be the longest of all Edward chapters, I think, because Charles was important. Did you like the whodunit storyline? More to the point, did you guess who it was? It was super fun to write something different like that. Also, I've posted an extra scene of this chapter in Lost Moments of Faith & Love, called 'Esme Evenson d. 1921'

Back to Carlisle and Esme next! As they try to deal with the gaping whole that Edward has left in their life! We're going into Esme's POV, which I'm happy about because I love Esme's POV.

Also, I want to say a gigantic thank you for all of your support this past year. I can't believe it was a year ago today that I posted chapter 1 of Faith & Love. I had no idea how many people would enjoy the little story that came from my fingers after rediscovering Stephenie Meyer's wonderful characters. Thank you for all your reviews, your follows and your favourites. You guys are awesome!