Dear readers,

Last night I had a dream that I met Robert Pattinson.

Now, I actually like Pattinson - I'll even call him Rob - I like Rob. But I don't much care for his Edward, and my Twilight collection (Thanks, Santa!) has a notable lack of Rob's face anywhere on or about it. I'm down with Lautner's Jacob, and while I don't think highly of Stewart's acting, she is a good enough Bella for me. But those people weren't in my dream. Rob was. He wasn't pale and brooding, all Edwardy, but he very kindly spoke with an American accent for me (which is Edward-like in several ways), and somehow this little vision put the seal on Chapter 9.

And so, here we are! My favorite chapter so far! It's also the longest chapter yet (especially if you consider Chapter 8: Just Friends was actually part of this chapter), so get settled in for a few.

Of course, all titles are songs recorded by Mr. Frank Sinatra; all characters and associated material belong to Stephenie Meyer (who dreamed of Edward, NOT Robert Pattinson!); and all thanks belong to you!


Chapter 9: Downtown

And then, Tuesday.

I had a fluttery feeling from the moment I woke up. Something had bothered me in my sleep, and the uneasiness that plagued my sleep leached into my consciousness. I felt as though I had been cold, or dreaming of being cold, and I awoke with a shiver. Though the sunshine had decided to stay one more day, I couldn't feel its bright warmth as I drove to school. My fingers tingled on the steering wheel. My eyes squinted in complaint against the sun I used to see so often in Phoenix. I didn't feel like anything was wrong, exactly - just weird. It was like there was electricity in the air, floating around, waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen and then it would strike like lightning and turn the world upside-down.

Jessica was waiting to catch me before class and make sure the shopping trip was still on for that evening. All she needed was a nod from me before launching into a full monologue about her date with Mike the night before. I let her talk, both because it was suicide to interrupt Jessica when she wanted to talk about herself and because I hoped she would distract me from my fluttery feeling. But the only respite I felt all day was in biology.

The Cullens had been out of school since sometime the week before, and I had my lab bench all to myself. While a relief to not find the freak waiting for me each time I had entered the lab, I had taken that little peace for granted. This time, with my nerves tight and anxiety buzzing through me like a caffeine jolt, I felt a measure of stress whoosh out of me the moment I saw the empty seat in the lab. For an entire hour, I let myself become absorbed in my work and ignored the electricity surrounding me, the lightning storm waiting to happen. It was the best biology class I'd had since the time in second grade when we had watched a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. I heard every word Mr. Banner said, took faithful notes, and left the classroom feeling like I had not only learned a lot but also enjoyed the experience.

Jessica followed me home from so we could take her car to Port Angeles together. While my anxiety had not returned to its earlier, heightened state, the calm I had experienced in biology had disappeared as suddenly as it had come; P.E. had been as torturous as usual, and it was followed by the hustle of getting up to Port Angeles before dark. So I was glad to let Jessica carry the conversation for the duration of the drive. While she talked about her date with Mike, her hopes for the upcoming dance, and what sort of dress she wanted, I tried not to think about the tingles radiating down my arms and the buzzing in my ears. I was doubly glad when we picked up Angela; Jessica's babbling grew more mellow, less frenzied as our duo became a small group. I took the back seat and let the conversation take its slower pace.

The electricity in the air, on the other hand, gained intensity. It started to worry me that I was feeling so anxious. Was I just agitated by the run-of-the-mill chit-chat going on? I supposed that was possible, but then I would expect to feel less anxious, less agitated in the mellower atmosphere. Was it because I disliked shopping, particularly disliked dress shopping, and especially did not enjoy dress shopping for an event I was not even to attend?

The girls found their full ensembles for the dance more quickly than we had expected, and we all decided to walk to a little Italian restaurant by the water. A fresh rush of goose bumps suggested that I try walking a few minutes without Angela and Jessica, so I made a suggestion.

"Do you mind if I run down to the book store for a minute while you put your bags in the car?" I asked, trying to sound upbeat but still somewhat indifferent. "I've been meaning to check it out, but this is the first time I've been up here."

I must have sounded like a little kid getting excited over seeing a pinwheel for the first time or something, judging by the look on Jessica's face, but after an awkward pause, the girls decided that it would be okay to meet at the restaurant in half an hour or so.

"Are you sure you don't want us to go with you?" Angela asked, despite the hard look Jessica gave her.

"Sure. I'll be fine." Maybe I would wind down a little. I could imagine myself already, perusing shelf upon shelf of books in complete silence. How could I not relax in that atmosphere? And with that thought, I set off in the direction of the book store.

I had hoped that my anxiety would lessen once I was alone, but as I walked, block after block, it only seemed to get worse. After a time, I came to the shop and found, to my disappointment, that it was a new age bookstore. There probably weren't any cookbooks in there - at least not the kind with ideas for dinners I could make for Charlie - and I doubted they would have any novels I would like, either. I wondered if any of the other shops in the area would have something I might like, and I looked up and down the street. The sun was starting to set, but I still had more than enough time to look around before heading for the Italian place for dinner. And, I reasoned, I was a working girl now; I wouldn't have much time to do things like this anymore. I might as well take my freedom while I had it. I headed farther down the street, away from the bay and my friends and the tourists, hoping to find a less alternative bookstore or a hobby store or something worth exploring.

I had no idea that all my goose bumps, chills, and prickles, the thunderstorm I had felt coming on, were all a warning of what lay waiting for me in an alley at the end of a half-hour wandering through the ever-darkening streets of Port Angeles.

And there, caught in the sights of four men who were so clearly enjoying taunting me as a spider plays with its prey before it goes for the kill, I realized how foolish I had been to ignore what my body had been telling me all day. Run, my brain had been urging. Run, Bella, run!

And as I tried to weigh my odds of survival if I stood my ground and fought against the miscreants or if I turned and ran (which, given my coordination, seemed like the losing bet), a flash of light and the squeal of tires burst into the alley. A silver Volvo stopped next to me. The door flew open.

I could not have dreamed up a more terrifying scenario. Lost in a strange city, stalked by some unsavory characters, cornered into a fight-or-flight situation, and now… Edward freaking Cullen.

I was so relieved to be rescued from the creeps in the alley that I almost obeyed the voice from the Volvo without hesitation. Almost.

"Get in," the voice growled, with as much malice as the scruffy drunkard who had been about to rape and kill me. For all I knew, that's what this boy had planned. Still, the odds of anyone fingering him when I showed up dead were much higher than ever suspecting the random strangers from another town. Oh, I hesitated all right, but ultimately I decided to get in the car. In an instant, we were out of the alley and blazing through town.

Perched in the passenger seat, I clutched the door handle tightly, expecting that, at any moment, he would pull over someplace dark and carry out whatever evil plans were lurking behind those bright yellow eyes. I peeked at his face, just visible in the faint dash light, hoping and praying to find anything but bitter hatred there. No such luck. His lips were like stone, pressed tightly into a line over his frightening teeth. His eyes were tight with fury, his brow furrowed. Finally, the moment I had been waiting for came. The car pulled onto the shoulder of the dark, deserted road and stopped.

I peered out through the windows in alarm. Surely we weren't anywhere near Forks. Would they ever find my body here? Was there anyone nearby who would see? Anyone to hear me scream? Perhaps if I struggled a bit, there would be some forensic evidence left in his car. I checked to see if he were watching, and I tried to touch my hair inconspicuously. If he didn't look up from the steering wheel, maybe I could yank out a few hairs without him noticing. If he touched me, maybe I could rationalize some wild movement that would draw blood. I hear blood makes great evidence. Then again, I would probably pass out. While not entirely sure that I wanted to be conscious while he had his way with me, I was sure that my chances of survival increased greatly if I remained conscious. So, no blood.

The pity was, some girls would probably love to be in this situation. I doubted even Jessica would shy away from the idea of the freak having his way with her in his car. She thought he was gorgeous. Though she had never said as much, I bet she thought he was a good kisser, too.

But I was not one of those girls. I couldn't quite explain it, but I sensed death in his perfect, pale skin. Danger in his sparkling, white teeth. Menace in his golden eyes – his haunting, cold eyes. How could anyone think of those thin, white lips pressed to theirs? They looked like the lips of a corpse. I shuddered at the thought.

A tense moment passed in silence. I waited for the freak to turn to me, to reach for me, to begin his attack. But his eyes were shut, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose as if he had a migraine coming on. At last he spoke.

"Bella?" he growled, his voice low and strained. "Are you okay?"

The words were familiar, and a rush of memory came with them. The freak had asked the same question after saving me from Tyler Crowley's death van. The question seemed more dire now, as if it cost him a great deal of energy just to ask it. But I was too gripped with fear to find the breath to answer. I said nothing, and Edward kept one hand at his eyes, gripping the steering wheel with the other until his knuckles shone even whiter.

He took a labored breath.

"Bella," he asked again, "please…" He paused, grinding his teeth. "Say something to distract me. Anything."

I wanted to ask him from what, exactly, he needed to be distracted. If it were my inane stupidity that infuriated him, I probably shouldn't start talking about something too random, reiterating how little sense my mind makes sometimes. If he were disgusted by my having left my friends to wander all alone in a strange town, I shouldn't say anything about my friends at school, giving him an excuse to mock the so-called friendship. If he hated my-

"Bella!" he roared my name, snapping his eyes to my face, letting the hand drop from his brow and return to the wheel. I completely lost my train of thought, entirely consumed by fear. His eyes were blazing and terrible. His whole body shook with fury. His mouth twisted and, with acidity, he shouted, "I need you to say something. NOW!"

I was too terrified to choose a topic. My mouth responded by reflex, and somehow I produced, in no more than a whisper, "I'm supposed to go visit my m- mother soon."

Immediately I could tell this was the right thing to say. The freak's frame relaxed a tiny, but perceptible, amount. A muscle in his face twitched.

My heart pulsed and pounded in my temples. My breath came in sharp, painful gasps.

"Go on," the voice urged, no longer a growl but still strained.

"I… I have a little m- money saved up," I stammered, reaching for something to say, "from moving… I was sup- supposed to b- buy a car but Ch- Charlie-that's my dad-he had bought my truck." I paused to swallow but found it difficult. My mouth felt incredibly dry all of a sudden.

Edward's eyes were shut, his head leaning back against his headrest, but his hands still gripped the steering wheel. He nodded, a sign that I should continue.

"Well, um, Renee - that's my mom - she lives in, you know, Florida now and, um, she thought I should come visit. I j- just started a job, and I have the car money. So I am going to, you know, use that money to buy a pl- plane ticket. I just need to figure out when."

I wondered, when Edward did not move, if I should throw my door open and make a run for it. But where would I go? I didn't know where I was and, as I had already made clear that day, I had a terrible sense of direction. I would be on foot and he would have a car... I swallowed again.

"I, um…" I tried to think of anything worth adding. "I will probably stay inside the whole time. You know, skin this pale doesn't mix well with sunlight."

A noise like a chuckle erupted from his chest, and Edward's hands relaxed on the steering wheel. I hadn't meant to be funny, but I supposed he knew better than I what happened to pale skin in strong sun. He and his family had the palest skin I'd ever seen. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it and said nothing. There was another little chuckle; then, dead air. He turned away and I fell mute. The conversation was over.

We sat in silence for several long minutes. It seemed as though the freak weren't even breathing. He kept his eyes closed and rested his head against his window, his jaw clenching and unclenching as time ticked by. I wondered what he was planning on doing to me, how he had found me, what the creeps in the alley were up to by now. I wondered how I could make it home safely after everything that had happened. So far, Edward had made no moves to touch me, but he certainly seemed inclined toward violence. I felt like I was going to be sick. What would he do to me if I threw up in his car? If I opened the door, would he think I was trying to run? If I could open the door, should I try to run? After an age of terror and uncertainty, he tilted his head toward me and frowned.

"I know I asked this before, but are you okay?" Edward asked, sounding much calmer than I expected.

"Fine," I answered automatically. My voice quavered, so to sound more convincing, I repeated, "I'm fine." My voice quavered again. A crease formed in Edward's brow as his eyes opened, studying me. I tried to swallow but found that, between my dry mouth and the lump in my throat, I could not.

"You're hyperventilating," he said calmly. "You should calm down."

I hadn't noticed that my breathing was irregular until he mentioned it. I was gulping air down like it could quench some great thirst. Self-conscious, I tried to slow my breaths, but a burning, constricting feeling in my chest begged me not to.

"I'm fine," I blurted again. His eyes were burning into me. He knew I was lying. I wasn't convincing him. "I'm fine," I insisted, without meaning to speak it aloud. I was sounding less and less fine.

"Bella," he spoke slowly, "calm down. Everything is going to be okay."

I tried to listen to the words, but blood pounded in my ears, drowning out his voice. It hurt my throat to breathe, but it ached my chest not to.

"Take a deep breath," Edward instructed. One gasping breath brought in more air than usual.

"Now let it out slowly." A panting noise escaped my chest. I couldn't stand how my body was betraying me. The worse I sounded, the longer he watched me; I couldn't stand him watching me!

"I'm fine!" Shut up! Why did I keep saying that? I put a hand over my mouth to keep the words in.

"Just think about breathing," Edward said, his eerily melodic voice gentle and quiet. "Take another deep breath."

I removed my hand and breathed in. I looked at him earnestly.

"I'm fine." Stop it! Eyes wide, I threw both hands over my mouth.

"Hey, it's okay," Edward said, reaching a hand toward my shoulder. Imagining all the scenarios I had expected before - rape, torture, death - I cringed away.

Edward cringed as well, withdrawing his hand. For a moment, a look of sadness crossed his face, followed my something I couldn't read. It was a blank, deflated expression.

"I bet you just want to go home," he said. He gave me a little smile. I tried to nod, but I'm not sure what motion, if any, I actually made.

And, quick as a wink, his hand was at the ignition, and we were back on lighted road again.

I don't remember telling him where Jessica and Angela were waiting for me, but I was relieved to see them waiting outside the Italian restaurant. I wasn't even bothered when Jessica confessed they had already eaten; I just wanted to go home. But Edward was uncooperative.

"I think you should eat something," he told me, lowering his chin with a concerned expression.

I looked to Jessica and Angela for help. Jessica's jaw dropped, but she looked somehow thrilled. Angela caught my eye, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me when she looked back at Edward and said, "Actually, we told Bella's dad she'd be home soon. We'd better get going. Do you mind eating at home, Bella?"

The look on Edward's face said he didn't believe a word of the lie Angela had just told, but he didn't argue. Instead, he took a step closer to us and put a hand behind my back protectively.

"Please be sure she gets something hot to eat soon," he whispered to Angela. She nodded.

I had thought that Angela was just trying to get away quickly, but apparently she took Edward seriously. As soon as we left the restaurant, we went straight to McDonald's to get me a burger and soda. I didn't feel much like eating, but as I sat alone in the back seat, I sipped my Coke, and the Coke seemed to go down more easily with bites of burger.

I wished I had brought a heavier jacket. I huddled down in my seat with my sweater wrapped around my arms like a blanket, but I shivered all the way home. And as anxious as I was to get there, it was such a long drive home.

Sleep that night was an impossibility.

After Jessica dropped me off, I immediately went up to my room and shut the door. Charlie gave me a quizzical look as I passed him on the stairs, so I made a point of making a little noise as I grabbed some sweats and took a shower. Hopefully he would think I was just tired and wouldn't realize I was avoiding talking to him; if a conversation started, I was pretty sure I would tell him all about the alley and start panicking. And if Charlie heard about me almost being mugged or raped or whatever those creeps were planning - well, there was sure to be some police activity in Port Angeles that night.

Unfortunately, not talking about what happened wasn't keeping me from panicking. As I stood in the shower, hot water rushing over me, the shivers returned. Every time I blinked, I could see the glint of a street light in the evil eye of the man who had called out to me. The sight of my knees reminded me of how I had been planning to knee him in the groin. I couldn't help imagining what my hands would have looked like, covered in blood, after smashing his nose into his skull.

I turned up the hot water and tried to clear my head. Think about school, I told myself. Think about Angela and Jessica and innocent Mike… I shut my eyes, concentrating on Forks High School. But instead of a friendlier classmate, I only saw Edward Cullen. He had his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose against some great frustration. His jaw muscles clenched.

I opened my eyes again, looking for something - anything else - to focus on. Nothing lay in sight but my shampoo. Ingredients: Water, sodium laureth sulfate, … Bad teeth and the smell of liquor. No! I cut the water off, dried quickly, and dashed back to my bedroom.

The floorboards creaked under my feet. Blankets rustled as I pulled them back on the bed. But I heard the laughter of the drunks in the alley. Bottles clinking, scraping against pavement. I was shaking head to toe. I pulled on some socks and crawled into bed, but I couldn't bring myself to turn out the light. I shut my eyes.

I was standing in the alley, ready to try what little self defense I remembered from a half-finished mother-daughter class Renee had signed us up for years ago. Headlights flashed across the scene and spun to a stop in front of me.

I opened my eyes. My faded childhood comforter was pulled high around my chin. My room was brightly lit, and the light came from a dusty, nickel-brushed fixture in the ceiling rather than from headlights, but I was not comforted.

My mind swam with the idea of calling Renee. I ached to see her, to be far from Washington and safe in her house. I didn't mind if her house was in Florida; I just wanted to be there, with her. But it was well after midnight on the East Coast, and calling her that late would sound parental alarms for sure.

I threw the pillow over my head and tried to concentrate on falling asleep. If I could just focus on counting sheep, or images of sailboats on a breeze, just something relaxing, surely sleep would come. I wasn't even that concerned about the fact that I would be tired the next day; I just wanted to stop seeing replays of the most horrifying moments of the evening.

I recited the periodic table of elements as well as I could recall it. Somewhere around silver, Ag, I lost track of the table and felt a fit of terror instead. Drawing a shaky breath, I attempted to re-focus: this time, I recalled driving directions from my old house in Phoenix to the nearest McDonald's. When my mind's eye threatened to return to a dark alley rather than a sunny, arid highway, I translated the directions into Spanish.

After eons of struggling to keep my mind in check and striving for sleep, my shivering body plodded down the hall for an extra blanket. As I returned to my room, I thought I caught a glimpse of something at my window. Afraid to look, I stopped in my tracks, staring at the floor, until the drumming in my ears paced out a few dozen beats. Then, slowly, I raised a hand to the light switch and my eyes to the window. I saw nothing. The room went dark and I clambered into bed, pulling the extra blanket over me as I went.

There is nothing out there, I told myself. My stomach argued, twisting itself into knot upon knot; but I insisted. There was nothing out there, and I kept my eyes shut tight against the scary things in the world, and I was going to find sleep if it killed me.

I must have nodded off or been really out of it, because my alarm caught me off guard in the morning.

Sitting up in bed, the world seemed like a different place than the night before. The light coming in my window was back to the usual gray mist. The only sign that anything at all had happened the night before was the two extra blankets on my bed.

I shook my head as my socked feet hit the bare floor. I must have really been out of it; I only remembered grabbing one extra blanket from the closet outside Charlie's room.

It was a relief to start my morning routine, and the nightmare I had lived through seemed more and more like a distant dream as I got dressed and brushed my hair. I was exhausted. I was tense. But I was okay. Whatever had happened was in the past. I took a deep breath, and some sweet fragrance laced the air.

Yes, I was alive, and it felt good!