a/n: Twilight characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. The plot and characterization is mine.
"Out of my sight! Thou dost infect my eyes." ~ Richard II
Chapter 8 – Infect my Eyes
"James, James, James…" Leah muttered while she shook her head. She looked at the manila folder in her hands. Flipping through the pages that her assistant had put together and handed off to her in the stairwell ten minutes before she remarked, "It looks like you sir are amongst the scorned."
For his part James looked on disinterestedly. Leah had untied his arms and brought him down a bagel and a coffee from her office. He figured this had to be the most odd and pleasant kidnapping experience anyone could endure. Looking back, he was even slightly turned on by Bella's abuse in an odd sort of way.
That was the reason he had loved Vicki, she liked it rough.
"It says here that you petitioned for divorce on the grounds of 'irreconcilable differences', care to elaborate?" Leah looked up and smirked.
"Yeah, I wanted her to be my wife, and she wanted to be a whore," James mumbled biting into his bagel, "Do you have any cream cheese?"
"Here ya go," Leah tossed him a little packet and a plastic knife, "She got a nice deal out of this, looks like there was no prenup. Bad move on that one James."
"Bitch drained me dry. And I was the one who caught her banging another man."
"So I bet she would love to know that you were making a little money that is not reported to the government? Say—the money that Esme is paying you to track down Bella?" James growled at Leah's assessment. There was no way he would let his ex-wife find out about his unreported job and pull more alimony out of him. To him it was a matter of personal pride.
James Damon was a very bitter man when the subject of Vicki came up. In some ways, the manner in which everything came to a head was most likely retribution for his own treatment of his former spouse.
James first met Vicki when he finished college. At the time he had finished his undergraduate degree in business, but had no idea what he wanted to do next. Instead of going right away to graduate school, he elected to travel across the country.
Living out of his car for months on end, James considered himself a wanderer. Stopping in small towns across the country and generally finding himself at the counter of some backwoods bar became his life.
The stories he would hear were riddled with Americana. Old men on stools would tell him about their youth, the women they lost, the women they settled for, the jobs that moved away, the old men would say just about anything to a man who would listen.
In all of James' time hunting for what he should do next with his life, the only thing he was certain was that people were always searching for something else. There was never contentment from what was right there in front of them.
After six months of roaming, he found his way back to Seattle and started applying for jobs. His checking account was sorely depleted from his cross-country travels and now he faced an uphill battle in the job market. Finding a company that would hire a man fresh out of college with no real employment history and a six month gap in his resume was next to impossible.
Then the impossible happened. James found a job with a small e-commerce business. Their qualifications were simple; they wanted some fresh blood and someone who would work for next to nothing.
The company tried to make their deal sound more appealing by offering an employee stock program. James could have cared less, he would not see that money anyway, and they were far too small. But he accepted the sales position and after a month gathered enough in commissions to move out of his car into a small efficiency apartment above a sports bar.
In one day everything in James life changed. He was in his apartment after a long day of negotiations with a rather high profile company. The meeting had been a suicide mission, but his boss pawned it off on him and toted it as experience. James concluded that there was simply no way for them to land the account, and now all he wanted was a beer.
Wondering down to the bar that had a rather large crowd for a Wednesday, he bellied up to the bar and ordered a drink. It looked like there was a hockey game on and the crowd that gathered was going to get rowdy pretty quickly. James assumed he should just stick down there and watch the game since they would be too loud for him to get any decent sleep. He hunched over his drink and slammed it down and quickly ordered another.
"Look at you go there champ," a sultry voice said from beside James. He immediately broke from his daze and slightly marveled at the woman next to him.
Her auburn locks would flame under the pot lights over the bar, and her crooked grin made James' manhood twitch. Eyes that were an amber-brown stared at him under long, luscious eyelashes. She was not the most beautiful women James had ever seen, but she certainly had an ability to lure him in. In less than twenty seconds, she had managed to intrigue him.
Pulling himself out of his momentary ogling session, James managed to squeak out, "Would you like to join me?"
"Only if you can take me at a game of darts," and the mystery woman began to move effortlessly through the hockey fans and made his way to the back of the bar. At this moment he was more than willing to chase her through their drunken bodies to find her.
"By the way, nice pants," the woman looked down lingering without trepidation at his bulge.
James assessed himself and quickly realized that he was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt with pit stains. Obviously his wardrobe was not a part of what attracted this woman to him.
"By the way, I'm James."
"Good to know."
"Aren't you going to tell me yours?" James looked at her waiting for a reply. She walked up to him and rubbed a dart tip against his chest slowly. He let out a slow moan before she placed the darts into his hand.
"First you have to win the game. As a prize, I let you know my name."
James was slightly intrigued by her games. She was certainly more interesting than most of the women he was around and something about her made him want to chase after and make her be his. She presented a challenge and he wanted to win.
Walking up to the board, James put in the coins to start the game. He walked back to the line and took his first shot. Bulls eye. James turned to the woman and smirked before throwing his two remaining darts.
James cleared the board and handed the woman the darts. She stood and took her shots. Three bulls eyes.
She turned and looked at James with her crooked smirk, "Looks like you have to try harder."
The way her tongue curled around the last word made James start breathing heavily. The two drinks he downed at the bar were kicking in and he felt his courage rise.
"I am already harder," James stood inches away from the woman and the tension between the two was palpable. He was so close that he knew she could feel all of him press against her.
"Good," the smirk reappeared and the game was forgotten. James took her hand and led her through the back hallway to the stairway to his apartment. For once he was thankful for the rowdy patrons in the bar, because he planned on needing them to drown out the noise that was about to commence from above.
Never in his life had James experienced something so perfect in his bedroom. The woman found one of his silk ties and had him strapped to the bed. While she did unimaginable things to him, James realized that even if she tried to leave he would hunt her down. She was perfect for him.
When James woke the next morning, he was no longer strapped to the headboard. Next to him on the bed where she had lain was a small note with a phone number and "Vicki" written in a hurried script.
James assessed his body and relished the small bruises that formed where she had bit and sucked on his skin. He smiled at the small scratches on his shoulders where Vicki had clawed on him frantically as she screamed in delight. The marks of pain were filled with memories of pleasure. It took everything in him to not call the number that very second and order her back to his bed.
Instead, James took a shower hissing at the hot water that hit his sore muscles and dressed for work. The failure of his presentation the day before lingered on his memory and even the momentary distraction of the flaming red-head could not cover his disappointment in the suicide mission his boss placed upon him.
James took the phone number and put it in the breast pocket of his jacket to call during his lunch hour. He would wait a few hours to call Vicki. Surly that would not be construed as desperation, he construed as he made his way out to his office.
It was mid morning when James was called in to meet with the owner of the business. A thin man with meek face and an overbearing personality, James always thought of his boss a mixture between a clique scientist and a half hour infomercial pitchman. He would not be surprised if his boss was pimping his business while on a date.
"Corin, good to see you this morning," James put on a polite smile while Corin motioned for him to take a seat.
"Ah James, presentation went well yesterday," James noticed it was not a question.
"As well as could be expected. We all know that account was a long shot."
"Then you must be a miracle worker," Corin pushed his glasses further up his nose, "You left a good impression with Mr. Jenks."
"That is good to hear."
"So good in fact, he called ten minutes ago and agreed to work with us," Corin sat back in his chair and took a drink from his coffee. While he looked pleased, James looked on in slight shock.
"But that means we are doing the back end for the largest fucking retailer on the internet!"
"Yes it does," Corin smirked, "You have just made the both of us very rich men."
In just under a month, the stocks for the small e-commerce business skyrocketed when it was picked up through the financial markets their newest client was. James watched as his useless portion of company profits ballooned into making him a wealthy man.
The first weeks after the business meeting were hectic and filled with meetings and late nights. James would wake early, work relentlessly for hours, and wander back into his apartment half asleep. But when his commission check was deposited into his bank account, James nearly squealed.
James celebrated when he made it to his apartment by stopping downstairs and ordering a drink. He still had his suit on, but his tie was loose around his neck and the top buttons were undone. Reaching into his inside pocket to pay for his drink, James felt a small piece of paper come out.
Vicki's number was still in his breast pocket and in the same condition as the day he left it there. James was thankful he had been too busy to bring it into the dry cleaners.
He turned the paper around his fingers slowly. James had wanted to call her for weeks, but every time it would come to the front of his mind, business would stand in the way. Slamming back the drink, James pulled out his courage and took out his cell phone.
"Hello," a raspy voice answered.
"Vicki?"
"Who is this?"
"This is James—from the bar. Do you remember me?"
"I remember you. It's a little late to be calling."
"I could try you back at a better time?"
"No, I mean it has been three weeks since we fucked. I don't wait around that long for a man."
"I'm examining this slip of paper you left me and there isn't an expiration date anywhere on it."
"You are such an asshole. Did you call me to ask me over for another quick fuck?"
"There is nothing quick about what we did baby," James could hear Vicki take in a deep breath, "My job is what kept me from calling."
"That is a crappy excuse."
"But true. I barely had enough time to sleep in the last few weeks. But in the few minutes I had to myself, I keep thinking about you."
The line was silent. At first James thought she had hung up, but he could hear her soft breaths.
"Fine, you get one more shot at this, but I don't wait. You've been warned."
James and Vicki met up a couple days later. He was tired and drained from work, but he craved her touch. His cravings kept him calling her day after day. With his new income, James moved into a new condo minutes from the business district his office was in and he asked Vicki to move in with him.
The two moved fast, but James did not want to run and catch Vicki anymore. He wanted her by his side. They had been together for barely a year when he proposed.
Vicki said yes before the words barely finished coming out of James's mouth. Their engagement was short, and before he knew it James Damon was a married man.
Even though he committed more time to Vicki, James also faced more pressure from Corin to bring in more clients. Most days James barely had time to sleep, moreover be with Vicki. His wife was so desperate for intimacy that she would sneak into his office at lunch to take him on his desk.
James loved having even the briefest moments with her. Vicki's skin was pale and flawless. His hands could rise across her flawless body and instantly make him content. Her mere presence was intoxicating, and he planned a surprise vacation to Fiji to thank her for understanding the pressure he was facing from Corin.
Putting together his latest proposal for an emerging online trade company, James headed to Corin's office to give him the news. He hoped his boss would not give him any reason to delay his vacation with Vicki. Corin had already done it twice with two new projects, that was why James had been so reluctant to give his wife any forewarning on his plans. He knew she would be angry if they set something up just for him to call it off.
Corin felt gracious when he gave the 'okay' and James set off back to his desk to clean up and leave. The office was cleared out and he headed back to his home and wife.
He did not expect to step into his home and find Vicki naked in their bedroom messing around with the potbellied neighbor. Their neighbor's scraggly beard was nuzzled into his wife's chest when James collected himself enough to announce his presence.
"Get the fuck out of my house!" When the potbellied neighbor sat in stunned disbelief that an angry, armed husband had caught him, James clarified his position by running into the closet and pulling out his hunting rifle.
The neighbor ran from the house and did not even stop to grab his clothes. James sat in disbelief before his wife spoke up.
"I was just going to come downstairs and wait for you."
"And you stopped because your ass ran into our neighbor's cock?"
"You were running late again!"
"And that is an excuse? I was cleaning everything up at work so that I could surprise you with a trip to Fiji."
"Really," Vicki licked her lips and hummed, "I cannot wait."
"You're kidding me, right?" James looked exasperated; "There is no way in hell we are still going. You fucked that little perv, what's his name, in my house—and—and you have the nerve to think we are still going away on a little vacation!"
"He doesn't mean anything," Vicki stepped forward and ran her finger down James' chest, "I'm just staying occupied while you are busy."
"Fuck my life," James muttered before returning the riffle to its case. Just as quickly as his marriage began, it fell apart. The divorce proceedings were tumultuous at best, and when the dust cleared, James Damon was left a bitter and untrusting man.
"Fuck that shit," James muttered to himself.
"So you are going to be cooperative then?" Leah glared at James.
"Might as well. Esme gets what she wants—to talk to Bella. I get what I want—my paycheck."
"I am so glad you are agreeable."
"Whatever. Can you toss me some creamer for my coffee?"
Esme was busy cleaning her son's townhouse. It had been years since she stepped foot inside the brick building, but even with the passage of time, she still felt old memories flood back to her.
Edward told his mother he was out at a meeting with the hospital, and that he would be back within a couple hours. Esme had taken it upon herself to begin preparing the house for Edward's stay. As she used a broom to sweep some of the cobwebs that were left undisturbed during the renovation, an ardent thought popped into her head.
You are bringing them back together Liz, I know it.
Esme was not a bible-toting woman by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, she could not help but believe her older sister was interceding in her son's life. After all, Edward was Liz's son first. Esme sat the broom down and walked into the room that was once Edward's nursery. She walked over to the unadorned window seat and looked around the empty room.
Liz, you would have loved Edward. He was such a beautiful child. His father's unruly hair, but his eyes! Those are yours.
Looking around the empty space, Esme clearly remembered how her sister fussed over where the crib was located. Not in front of a drafty window, or next to a cold outside wall. No, the baby would sleep in the warm middle of the room. Easy for her to rush to him in the middle of the night when he awoke. Liz Masen was nothing if not meticulous in how her son would be raised.
I am trying Liz, I am trying to bring Edward's Bella back. I feel like I failed you.
The silent house did not answer Esme's silent pleas. Only the sound of the dry autumn leaves rustling across the concrete a story below let her know the world was not still.
Esme stood from the window seat and walked from the room. The sound of her phone ringing echoed through the empty home.
"James, what did you find out?" Esme asked after checking the caller id.
"If her work schedule is correct, she should be home in about an hour. Charlie appears to be out as well"
"This is it then."
"Just," there was a pause on the line, "just don't get your hopes up, alright?"
"All I have is hope," Esme hung up and paced in the hallway. This was it, this was the time she would finally be able to confront Bella and find out exactly why she left. And with any luck, she would be able to keep her promise to her older sister.
Esme called for a cab and was told they would be there within fifteen minutes to pick her up. She took the time to compose herself and left a paper note on the kitchen counter in case Edward arrived home early letting him know she was out shopping. Of course, shop she would not.
Go to the hospital Edward would not. At least not this morning. He told his mother he had an early meeting there, but in truth he had asked Picia to meet him and find a bedroom set since he had absolutely no furnishings.
Picia easily agreed to meet with Edward, especially when he laid on his innate charm. She had a few hours before her husband finished his shift, and she desperately wanted to learn more about the man who had claimed to be Bella's husband.
For his part, Edward was equally intrigued to learn more about Picia Turi. They met up at an antique shop only five minutes from his townhouse. Picia assured him there would be some hidden treasures inside that would not only leave an impression on potential buyers memories, but would work well with his own tastes.
They met outside of the store and fell into a comfortable conversation as the browsed through the crowded rooms. There was barely any walking space between the antiques, but Picia had a remarkable sense of spotting items buried underneath piles of rubbish to find truly remarkable pieces.
"My mother would appreciate your style," Edward remarked as Picia pointed him toward a mahogany headboard with intricate scroll work.
"Then your mother must have remarkable taste," Picia smiled as she made a note in the pad she was carrying around with room dimensions, "This looks like it may be the perfect height to fill the space. Lets keep this in mind as we continue around the space."
They continued through the crowded space and Edward realized that the store extended back further then he anticipated. Thankfully he was navigating their way through. Their polite conversation continued and Edward tried to push ever so slightly to gain more information.
"So your last name, Turi, that doesn't sound Italian. Didn't you mention your husband was from Italy?"
"Oh, no it isn't. It's my maiden name—Scandinavian I believe."
"Very modern of you to keep your own name."
"Not really, my husband suggested it."
"Really? That's unusual."
Picia sighed, "I would have preferred to take his name, but my husband's job is high risk. He thought it would help to keep me safe."
"How's that?" Edward asked.
"He works for the Chicago police department. He is a detective, and some of the cases he works on are fairly high profile."
Although Edward did not realize the connection to Bella was closer then he thought, he filed the information away for later use. In his mind Bella was connected to Picia, and not her husband.
Picia, in her own delayed intuitiveness, realized she had said too much to this man. His demeanor was so genuine, and his voice so soothing she could not help but want to be honest with him. The only thing that kept her from being any more open was the knowledge that Bella did not want him to know anything about her. Picia's husband would tell her that keeping Bella's personal information safe was paramount to any gossip she wanted to share with her high profile client.
Instead Picia tried to divert the conversation to her advantage. She was pointing out a rare matching pair of side tables that would work beautifully with the headboard they had seen earlier.
"Beautiful, aren't they. Rare to see them together," Picia bent down and looked under the drawer, "Ah, yes. These were made by a local Chicago craftsman in the early 1900's."
"They do look nice."
"And they are a fantastic bargain," Picia dropped her voice to a whisper, "Don't let the shop owner know, but he is underselling them by at least half of what they are worth."
"How do you know that?" Edward asked, suddenly interested by her enthusiasm for the pieces.
"They had a similar table up for auction by the same craftsman a couple years ago. That table sold for quite a penny, and it did not even have its matching mate," Picia smoothed her fingers across the surface of the slightly dusty top, "But these are still together and in pristine condition."
"I guess we are in luck then."
"Certainly, it's a shame when one table is missing from the set. Loses its way for whatever reason, wouldn't you agree? Sometimes they are damaged, stolen, maybe needs to be pawned. So many reasons for it to lose its mate."
Edward cocked his eyebrow. He was certain the conversation had turned from tables to something more abstract, "Sometimes I bet one just disappears for no reason at all."
Picia's face flushed. Her probing had gone too far. She wanted desperately to ask Edward about his and Bella's relationship. But she knew without a doubt to do so would invite him to ask what she knew about Bella. Suddenly her ambitious goal of making a sale of Edward's pricy townhouse did not seem to be in her best interest.
"Edward, I'm not sure if this is going to work out with us working together. Perhaps I can refer you to another realtor in my agency."
"Oh no!" Edward panicked, "I—um—I wouldn't feel comfortable working with anyone else. It has to be you."
"I work with some fine folks that I could introduce you too. But, I don't think I am comfortable with this. You have to understand what a position I am in—"
"I do Picia, I do. Please understand where I am coming from. I know no one in Chicago. I am trying to sell my childhood home. There are few people I can trust," Edward looked her straight in the eye, "I trust you."
Picia wanted to argue with him. She had not told her husband about her new client yet, and she was not certain she would. Something in the back of her mind made her believe that befriending him would be better then pushing him away. She would not push him away if only to know what he was going to do next. If he had any intention of seeking Bella out, and if he provided any threat to Marc, Picia wanted to know.
"Let's bring the owner over to pay for these items and set up a delivery."
Edward smiled to himself. He had not lost his connection to Bella, but he now knew he had to tread lightly. Picia was his lifeline, and to him the only way he would ever see Bella again.
"Thank you," Edward said quietly and looked at the tables he was about to purchase. Two beautifully crafted pieces, but when he looked a little closer, he could see the slight wear from years of use. Although not deterring from the beauty of the pieces, is certainly made him aware of the imperfections. Even though the two remained together, they had not escaped a small amount of mistreatment at some point in their journey.
The shop owner came forward nodding toward the tables, "These are the ones you want us to deliver, are they going to work for you?"
"Yes, these are the ones. They are perfect."
