I.
He had watched her enough over the years to know she was beautiful, but being so close to her confirmed it without a single doubt. That long hair, cascading over her slumped shoulders, like a wave of mahogany curls. The delicate slope of her nose, the red tint of her cheeks, the bow of her mouth. And her eyes, when they fluttered open, so full of confusion and then panic—panic had never looked as lovely as it did in her beautiful brown eyes. He could almost smell the fear coming off her skin in a thin sheen of sweat. It made him dizzy to be so near to her. He reached out o touch her face, the lovely pale, smooth skin he had admired from afar for over a decade. She immediately flinched back. He smiled. The fear surged. He felt intoxicated by it.
"I hated you once," he admitted absently, staring at her, "because I thought you had ruined everything. You made me…impotent in a way, and I detested you for it. Because it was your fault, you know that I couldn't complete my work after you ran away. But now I see you were just extended the game. Your turn wasn't over, and you were giving me more time to think out mine. We are like chess pieces, Bella, you and I are, black versus white, strong versus weak, predator versus prey. But you, my dear, are a pawn, and I am the knight, charging down the squares to overtake you. You should just accept it now."
For a moment her eyes were flickering in terror, behind him, around her, trying to figure her way out of her bind. He saw her struggle, testing how tightly she was lashed to the table. It was a brilliant thing he had found, really. The tables they used for lethal injections spread the victim out like they were being crucified, legs straight down and held there, arms out lengthwise. She was spread beautifully; his work would look astonishing when he was done. He had fitted it to a mechanism that would tilt the table up or down, and for now he had her held up, almost as though she were floating in midair, his and her eyes at the same height. She closed her eyes for a moment, and he thought she was going to cry. He felt sparks swirl and fly all under his skin.
When she opened them, however, there were no tears, only a strange look and one he hated every millisecond he saw it.
"Get the fuck away from me," she snarled.
He was momentarily taken aback by how…virulent she had sounded. Where had this woman come from? Where was the shaking, terrified girl he had created? He knew she was in there, he had seen her in her deepest reaches of fear and God she was tempting enough to touch when she was entrenched in terror. How many times—when he called her at the police station, when he rang her doorbell and ran from it, when he had watched her come back to her apartment after he destroyed it—had he watched her eyes widen in fear, watched tears spring the corners of her eyes and her bottom lip tremble as they spilled over her cream colored skin, all color gone from her usually beautifully flushed cheeks? He had felt it down to his toes, the wanting, when he watched her like that. There was something about her fear specifically that made him antsy to work, made his whole body ache with the need more pronouncedly than it had for over a decade.
But this? This rage and strength? It made his stomach roil. He hated it. It infuriated him, in fact. As much as her fear brought his needs to the surface of his mind, this new development brought his rage swirling from his controlled depths in a way he was almost unfamiliar with. Without thinking he stepped forward and backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side, her bottom lip split in the corner. Seeing the bright red, tempting screaming red, against her paleness made his whole body jump to attention. He was concentrating on the tiny drop of her blood that had run down from her mouth to the side of her jaw when suddenly he felt something wet on his face. He touched the wet spot and brought his fingers in front of his face. He saw saliva and blood.
She had spit at him.
He looked at her again, halfway between horrified and enraged again and she just smirked at him in this ugly, hateful, painfully assured way, like she knew something he didn't.
"You don't know what you just did, you little bitch," he said quietly.
She just laughed.
II.
At first Bella had felt fear, of course she had felt fear, and it had overwhelmed her senses, made her whole body go stiff, made her heart rate rise out of control. She couldn't think. Her mind was racing; panic was coursing as adrenaline through her veins and into her consciousness. All she could think was get out get out get out get out.
She finally allowed herself to look straight at him and immediately what had been her flight response turned to fight. He was just a man, just a psychopath that had fixated on her, but he was still just a man. She felt suddenly, profoundly livid.
He did not seem particularly fond of her displays of anger, especially not when she spit at him, but it only made her laugh. It had hurt like a bitch when he hit her, but she took in as much stride as she could. Adrenaline was dampening the pain, she might need stitches for her lip, but she wasn't thinking about stitches, she was thinking about surviving.
"What do you think you are laughing about?" he demanded. The anger was back in his voice. "Do you know what I'm about to do to you?"
"It won't be any worse than what I have already imagined you doing to me. It's been thirteen years since you took me last, and I have had every single day to think about what might happen if you came after me again. I have thought about every form of torture I could possible imagine, researched methods of inflicting pain, had more nightmares about it than I could even begin to count. What you are going to do with be nothing," Bella stated. Her voice was level, flat, without intonation. She tasted more blood in her blood, and despising the metallic taste, spat again on the floor under her. He flinched when her blood and saliva hit the floor but didn't move. But he said nothing more. He turned from her and walked across the room, out through a set of double doors, leaving her alone.
She struggled again, fruitlessly she knew, there was no way she was just going to be able to get out of the bonds. He wasn't the kind of sociopath to just forget to bind a victim correctly. He wasn't an idiot. But of course she had to try. She felt that she was secured too tight by what looked like the kind of restraints they used on hospital beds with a dangerous patient. She didn't know where he had been able to secure all the things he had used to get to her and keep her where she was, but she didn't put too much thought into it. She was going to try screaming when the silhouette of her captor reappeared into the door, pushing something in front of him, a bag on his shoulder.
She watched as he pushed a large table on wheels right up to her side and put down a black canvas bag on it. He unzipped the bag and started taking things out. A scalpel. A blowtorch. A band saw. A flicker of the fear that had disappeared came resumed its seat in the forefront of her mind for one split second when she realized he was planning on using those things on her. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing what else he was going to take out. She didn't want to know. And then it occurred to her that he was doing this, showing her the tools, to scare her. He was trying to regain some kind of control, and the best kind of control was fear. If she was afraid he had her exactly where he wanted her.
So she went on the offensive.
"So where did this proclivity for torture and murder come from? I was a psych double major in college, which I'm sure you already know, what with the stalking me relentlessly for over a decade of your life in all. Maybe I can help you get to root of your problem," she said. She looked down at him, his face not his hands and whatever he had in them. He glanced at her with veritable rage, but said nothing. She could feel his anger radiating from him in waves, and she knew there was a chance she was only making things worse for herself, but on the off chance that what she was doing might actually help her, she was going to keep pushing.
"Okay, well if I am going to help you, you are going to have to open up to me. But we can start with the basics. Did you mother make you like this?" she asked. There was a lilt of amusement in her voice. She knew it was bordering on hysteria.
"This has nothing to do with my mother," he snapped. Bella smirked.
"So it was your mother that fucked you up. I can work with that. Was it neglect?" she asked. He kept moving, kept unpacking his seemingly endlessly full bag. "So it was abuse."
His movements hitched only slightly, but with the adrenaline pumping through her veins, everything was heightened. She saw the way his hands had paused briefly over his work, the way his face, though mostly turned away had seemed to freeze.
"Well I guess the only question left is was it mental, physical or sexual abuse." She paused. He didn't respond, either out loud or through his body language. "Ah, so all three," she inferred.
"You should be worrying less about my mother and more about your immediate future," he ground out; his teeth clenched together in what she could only assume was almost uncontrollable rage. His eyes met hers and she felt for a split second that their roles were completely reversed. She was the cool calm one, impossible as that seemed, and he was the one that was in a frenzy, unable to control himself. Bella knew she couldn't keep this up forever. She knew a lot about psychology, but she hadn't ever studied this man, she didn't know nearly enough about his pathology to guess about the where and whys of his deep seated psychological issues. She had taken psychology mainly because she wanted to understand herself better, wanted to get a hold of the fear that penetrated her and for the most part she had. She never guessed that she would be using all her knowledge to try and talk to her kidnapper.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should be terrified right now. But I'm not."
His brow furrowed. He looked into her eyes for a very long moment and she could tell he was searching her for fear. That moment was when she felt most fearless, and she was proud that he looked away from her dissatisfied.
"So that's it then, fear. It's why you hung up all the photos in that room and kept us all in there for a week. It's why you took everything so slow. Maybe you're a perfectionist and you like everything just right, but I think it was mostly because you like to bathe in fear. You are a sick motherfucker; I'll give that to you."
He stood in front of the table, rearranging things slowly, putting them in specific order. Bella didn't look. She remembered something Edward had told her, that what he wanted most was to keep her from going on with her life, and that if she wanted to win, all she had to do was live.
"How it must kill you to know that you didn't ruin my life," she said quietly.
"I destroyed you, you insolent bitch! You lived your life in fear because of me, changed your habits, moved to a new city, fell apart on a daily basis because of me!" he shouted at her, his face an inch from hers. His cold calculating eyes were now totally beyond recognition. They were full of fury, and of something else, she didn't know what. She knew she had pushed the right button.
"I double majored in college. I work at one of the biggest publishing companies in the world and am on my way to being one of the youngest senior editors in the company's history. I fell in love, because of me. You can kill me now if you want, torture me, whatever, but I lived. All you have done is watch."
"Oh I've seen you live. You think that because you fucked that stupid detective it means he loves you? You think it means he will find you?" he snapped. He looked practically rabid. The idea of Edward touching her obviously sent him into a rage, and her shoving it in his face only made it worse.
"I think watching us together was your worst fear in action. Some other man touching me, making me feel normal and safe. You were nowhere near my mind in all those hours he and I were together. And to think, you brought us together," she said with a slight smile. The thought of Edward's hands on her transported her for a moment back to her apartment before everything went to hell, his mouth on hers, arms wrapped around her back, every inch of his skin pressed against hers. She had never felt as secure in her entire life as she had in those moments.
She looked at him; his face had gone back to its chilling placidity. He was moving his hands again. He brought them up to his eyes to investigate. He had on brass knuckles.
"Let's see how safe he makes you feel now," he said to her, his voice back down once more to where it had been, oddly, unnervingly monotone. She had pushed his buttons for certain, but not enough of them. He had been able to come back down.
She closed her eyes and thought of Edward.
III.
Seven locations out of eight had turned out to be a bust. Edward had rushed to the door of each crack den, each empty building, abandoned storefront, warehouse, almost every fucking place they had put on their list and they got nothing. The last spot was the old warehouse on the pier and Edward honestly wasn't holding out much hope for it to be the one where he found Bella. He had thought he had found something predictable, but maybe he had been wrong. If he had wasted their time by chasing down what turned out to be a dud lead he might never forgive himself. They didn't have time to waste. Every second he was away from her ate at him, and the more time went by, the more he felt like he was going insane.
When they got into the car after location seven, Emmett paused before starting the car.
"If this next place isn't the one, Edward, it isn't your fault," he said.
"If you're going to give me some cop wisdom, can you do it while you're driving?" was all Edward said in reply.
Emmett started the car and glanced at the address of the final location they were planning on scoping out. He entered the stream of traffic and sighed.
"Listen, I know you need to get to her, I am not going to tell you that you shouldn't try. What I am telling you is that we are three moves behind in this game and if you beat yourself up because you didn't get to see all the cards before you started playing you're just going to wind up hating yourself for something that was never your fault. James had this shit planned out before you ever knew she existed."
Edward said nothing. Emmett was probably right, he usually was, but that didn't mean that Edward didn't feel like shit about it, or that Emmett didn't feel right. It made sense, but it didn't jive with how he was feeling. He wanted to scream when Emmett told him it wouldn't be his fault if he didn't find her until she was already dead. Serve and protect, wasn't that the oath he made when he became a cop? Wasn't that the oath he made the second he met Bella, even without knowing it, that he was going to do anything, lay down his life if necessary, to keep her safe?
She was so strong, he knew that. But he also knew how scared she was. The thought of her scared and alone was enough to drive him to want to run all over the city until he found her, the fact that she might be in pain only made that need root deeper in him.
So he and Emmett drove in silence after Emmett had tried to talk to him. Mostly Edward tried not to think of anything other than the rushing scenery out the window. He tried not to think of the list of instruments James had used to torture his victims a decade ago. He tried not to think of the crime scene photos he had seen of mutilated children. He tried not to think of the rage he knew was bottled inside James like a dam.
With all his conscious effort to not think about terrible things he passed enough time, and finally they were down at the pier. All these abandoned warehouses had started looking exactly the fucking same to Edward.
They got out of the car and approached the front entrance. There was a padlock on it and Edward grumbled under his breath until Emmett backed away for a moment, returning almost instantly with a rather large and heavy looking trash can.
"Oh come on, Emmett, that shit only works in the movies," Edward said, annoyed that he was going to have to find some other way in. Emmett raised his eyebrows at him and then raised the can over his head, bringing it smashing down on the lock. It snapped in two under the pressure.
"Color me impressed," Edward drawled.
"Yeah fuck you," Emmett replied. They both drew their weapons as they had done at every other scene, needlessly as it had turned out. Edward took out his LED flashlight and went in first. It was dark, something he had expected, and he immediately clicked the bright little light in his left hand on. He led the way with Emmett as his backup.
They went through several large open rooms, and then there was a back hallway, which they traversed as quietly as possible. It could not have gotten any more cliché. At the end of the hall there were thick plastic flaps covering the doorway, a kind of light penetrating through the opening. It could have been a window. It could have been a junkie. But Edward felt it, with a sudden certainty that this was the place. He stomach was turning, his nerves felt like they were fraying, and like every cell in his body was certainly very rigidly at attention. Something was about to happen.
He walked through the flaps, pushing them aside and was met with something he could not at first understand. There was a cross like contraption suspended perpendicular to the floor, with a figure hung upon it. At first he thought it was a religious icon, a giant Jesus nailed to a cross, left here by a religious freak or who the fuck ever else might have come to the place.
But the hair was too long. And whoever it was moved too much to a religious carving. Edward stepped a bit closer and smelled blood. He took another reluctant step and the light seemed brighter or his eyes adjusted or everything else grew darker.
"Bella," Edward said quietly. He heard Emmett swear from behind him.
Edward immediately rushed from his place across the room. Bella was passed out on what he could now see was a table, rigged to elevate itself. Her head was hanging down, hair around her in a curtain, chest rising and falling in a slow, but even rhythm. She was alive. Edward thanked God.
"Help me, Emmett," he shouted. Emmett was at his side immediately and supported her body weight as Edward retrieved the knife from his belt and cut the hospital like restraints on her wrists, ankles and torso. The leather was tough, but eventually gave. When he was done she slumped forward into Emmett's arms, and he immediately gave her over to Edward.
Her limp form was brutalized, that much was clear. Her face was bruised; there were some shallow lacerations on her arms and legs. She had burns along her shoulders and hands. The bottoms of her feet were badly burned as well. But she was breathing. Edward was about to have Emmett call for a bus when her eyes fluttered. He watched for a moment and they fluttered open.
He opened his mouth to say something to her but said nothing. He didn't have the words to tell her the relief inside him that she was safe, that she was out of harm's way for the moment. There was pain in her eyes as she looked up at him, licking her dry lips, clearly trying to think of something to say just like he was. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at him.
"You found me," she said quietly, almost like a question.
"I will always find you. Always," Edward answered, resolution in his voice, a kind of finality that even if he had been afraid earlier he might not have found her, he now realized he would not have rested until he had. She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes as she breathed deep to steady herself.
"Bella, where is James?" Edward asked. Her eyes widened and her body tensed at the mention of his name, at knowing who he was.
"We heard a loud noise, you two getting in here most likely and he just ran for it," she answered quietly. "I was afraid I was just going to get left here. I guess I got overwhelmed, that's why I passed out."
"I have you now. We are going to get you out of here. Emmett, go radio this in, call for a bus; she needs to get to a hospital," Edward said quietly. Emmett took out his cell phone and frowned.
"No fucking service of course, I swear to God, they insist on cutbacks and only having the radio in the car but they can't even give us phones that fucking work, goddamn recession. I'll be right back," he said, exiting the room. He heard the flaps of plastic slapping together. As soon as Emmett was gone, Bella started crying.
"Bella, you're safe now, you're safe, I am never going to let anyone hurt you again, I swear, I promise, even if I have to quit my fucking job and live off my inheritance and never leave the house with you ever again I will," he said, not sure what else to say to her.
"Oh stop it, Edward! I'm not crying because I'm upset, I'm crying because I'm happy. I am so fucking happy to see you. I was terrified, Edward, terrified I was never going to see you again. Through all of it…through all of it I was just thinking about you, about being with you and now you're here. I knew you would come for me, I knew you would. And then Emmett…I mean Jesus Christ, the two of you, you rescue me from the clutches of a serial killer and you are still just you two, just doing your job…you have an inheritance?" her voice was higher pitched than normal, faster, almost hysterical. She was probably right on the edge of falling into shock. Edward figured the best way to keep her firmly planted on the right side was to talk to her.
"When my biological father died he left me a good sum of money in a trust. I didn't touch it for the first eighteen years of my life and by then Carlisle had convinced me to leave it alone unless I really needed it. I wanted to be a detective like my father so I haven't really delved into the money, but I would," he told her. "My original plan was to leave it for my kids just like my father did for me, but screw it; I'd rather spend it on you."
She smiled at him again and he didn't know how it was possible for her to smile. She had just been rescued from a torturing, stalking, homicidal maniac and she was smiling. She was honestly the most beautiful, strong person Edward had ever met. He couldn't contemplate how she could go on the way she was.
"I love you, Edward. I love you so much," she said finally.
"I love you, too, I have loved you from the very second I met you. I mean it when I say I am going to keep you safe," he said seriously.
The plastic behind them rustled and Edward turned behind him to ask Emmett what took so goddamn long and ask when the ambulance would be there.
Emmett's face was not the one he saw.
James's features stared back at, cold pronounced eyes glared at him from the doorway.
"Now Edward, I wouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep," he said.
