Chapter 10

As morning dawned—a pale, struggling sun crawling up behind the clouds—Rosalie stood motionless on the edge of the tree line. Emmett was beside her—she could feel him, tense as bowstring, as the pair of them strained to listen to the goings on inside the little house.

"Babe, I don't think she's there…"

"Shh."

"Is this even the right house?" he asked. "Maybe he's got a dog…"

"It's the right one," she whispered. "That's her scent. I would know it anywhere."

Emmett's eyes were glued on the little pink sneaker—he had memorized its scent earlier in the night—but there was nothing in his mind to link it to the girl from the school. Rosalie knew better. She knew how the flowery scent of freesias and fragrant strawberries smelled on the girl's warm, soft skin…

"She's in there," said Rose confidently. "I just don't know where…"

"We should get going," he said. "We've got class."

"I'm not going anywhere until I find out where Bella is."

Emmett took her hand, his lips pressed shut as they continued to stare. The neighbour to the left and his little dog were already outside—the dog was sniffing suspiciously in the corner nearest her, and it was all Rose could do to keep herself still. Animals did not like their kind—they could smell a predator from a mile away—and she had no desire to be caught lurking in the woods behind a stranger's home.

"There," said Emmett suddenly, his eyes narrowed.

It was still early morning—a little too early for most humans to be awake—but Emmett was right. Rose saw a light on the side of the house flick on—the kitchen, by the sound of clinking glass and the distinct sound of a running sink.

"He's up," said Rose. "That means Bella should be up soon too…"

Rose stood still as a statue. She listened, ears strained to hear, as the man started up a coffee pot, and the television turned on with the morning news. The window was still cracked, and the scent of fresh, bitter coffee wafted towards them on the morning breeze. The scent of man filtered out with it and the two of them could not help but grimace—Rose hated the smell of body odour.

"Wanna get a little closer?" whispered Emmett, jerking his head towards the jetty of trees that stuck out a little closer to the fence. "Maybe we can hear something."

Rose's phone, lying forgotten in her pocket, buzzed.

Carlisle called you two in. Don't worry about class.

"Alice," she said, smiling. "We're officially playing hooky."

"Nice," said Emmett, taking her by the waist. "I always wanted to blow off class to hang with my girlfriend…"

"Stop it," she laughed. "I'm trying to listen…"

His hands on her sides tickled, and she ran quickly towards the better vantage point.

When he caught up to her, he was chuckling.

"Are we gonna hang here all day?" he asked. "Because if we've got the day to ourselves, I can think of something much more interesting to do..."

"Stop it," she said again. "You know why I'm here."

"I don't think she's home, babe," he repeated. "I can't even hear that heartbeat from last night…"

"You could barely hear it pressed up against the wall," she protested. "Of course we wouldn't hear it from here."

"She's probably going to get ready for school."

"Hopefully," said Rose. "But if not…"

"What? We're just going to watch her?"

"Maybe," shrugged Rose. "I don't trust that father of hers, and I'm not about to leave her alone with him…"

"If this is even the right place."

"It's the right place," she scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you? I can't…"

"Shh," said Emmett. "Listen."

Rose was silent, craning her neck.

"Hello, yes, this is Charles Swan."

"Damn…" Emmett frowned. "This is…"

"Shush!" hissed Rose. "Be quiet!"

"…sick again."

"He's calling the school," said Rose. She was tense, ready to spring, as she listened to the man's words on the telephone—something about the way he spoke set her teeth on edge.

Emmett, sensing her distress, held tightly to her hand.

"Remember what Alice said…"

"Shush!"

"…not feeling well. I'm going to keep her home another day."

"Bastard…" Rose's voice was almost a growl. "She's not sick, and he knows it…"

"Where is the social worker?"

"Shh!"

"Woman…" Emmett sounded annoyed. "Stop that. You can hear just fine."

"…absolutely. Thank you."

The house fell silent.

"She is in there, then," said Rose smugly. "I told you so."

"She's sick," said Emmett. "Are you going to sit here and watch her all day?"

"No," said Rose. "I'm going to sit here and watch him all day. He hit her hard enough to leave bruises. I'm not about to sit idle while he does it again…"

"Remember what Alice said," urged Emmett. "Nothing crazy."

"It's not crazy to…"

"Yes, it is," he said. "It absolutely is. You can't just barge in there…"

"If he hits her…"

"Rose!" She bit her lip. "Stop and think before you get all riled up again."

"Sorry." Even to her, the word sounded insincere. "But…"

Buzz.

Rosalie glanced down at her phone.

Listen to Emmett. I don't see anything terrible.

"See?" said Emmett. "Alice agrees. Calm yourself down or you'll have to go home."

"You can't send me away like an errant child," dismissed Rose. "I'd like to see you try."

"No, I can't," admitted Emmett. "But you know as well as I that you will be devastated if something you do hurts that girl."

Rose's teeth sunk into her lip. Emmett was right.

"I hate this," she bit out. "I absolutely hate this waiting…"

"So do I," he said. "You think I like sitting here, knowing what goes on in there? That kid is going to be my sister… I don't like anyone hurting my family, but much less someone they're supposed to trust."

Hearing Emmett speak so fondly of the child he had yet to know made Rosalie smile, despite herself, and when he offered her his hand, she did not decline.

"I like that you're learning to care for her," said Rose gently. "At the vote, I wasn't so sure…"

"Neither was I," he laughed. "But you know me. I like kids well enough..."

"Yeah."

"Not that they like me back," he chuckled. "I'm a big, scary vampire, you know? But I know she means something to you, and how could I dislike anything that you love?"

"You're sweet."

"I'm serious," he said. "The idea's grown on me. This little kiddo is the closest thing to a daughter I can ever give you, and that in itself makes her worth it."

The strange hurt that Rose had always felt at the mention of her failed future—the one with a husband, children, and grandchildren in days long past—was curiously dulled at the sound of his words.

"I think I do love her," said Rose quietly, shaking her head to dispel the morning fog. "I don't know how that can be, but I can't help but think it…"

"Of course you love her," said Emmett easily. His lips were in her hair. "How could you not? She's the first child to ever show you any kind of love in return, and that's something really special."

"It is," agreed Rosalie, "but…"

"How would I know?" guessed Emmett. "You forget where I came from, babe."

Rosalie frowned. A part of her—a rather large part, if she was being completely honest—felt the sting of guilt when she thought of the life she wrestled from him. She had found him, torn up and bleeding on the forest floor, and had rushed him to Carlisle, not even thinking about the family he would be forced to leave behind…

As the oldest of a large group of siblings, Emmett had been all too familiar with the love of little children.

"No, I don't," she sighed. "How could I ever forget?"

"Hey, now…" His face had grown sad. "You know as well as I do that I've never regretted this life you gave me."

"You lost so much," she sighed. "I know you love me, and you're glad to be here, but…"

"But nothing," he said. "I would have died that day if it weren't for you. Either way, my time with my family was up."

Her head rested on his shoulder.

"Well, thank you for giving her a chance," she said finally, her eyes flickering back to the house. She could hear the man upstairs, changing his clothes…

"It wasn't very hard, babe." She could see his dimples. "Even when I saw you holding her in that classroom, I knew…"

And suddenly, as the memory replayed with vivid accuracy in her mind, she longed to hold the girl again, to feel those gentle little arms squeezing her neck…

Where was she?

"We'll make her safe," said Emmett, as if in response to her yearning. "Whatever's going on right now, she will be safe."

"I—"

"Shh!"

This time it was Emmett who cut her short, pressing a finger to her lips. Rose stopped, a frown on her face, as she listened for whatever it was her husband could hear, falling short when she heard nothing.

"What?" She was confused.

"I thought I heard…"

"What?" she asked again. She took a careful step closer to the house. She had not heard anything…

"There!" he said, pointing towards the living room window. "Did you hear it that time?"

"No…"

"Listen. Focus on that weird corner from last night… where the heartbeat was coming from."

Rose obeyed.

Over the sounds of the man upstairs, the rustle of the pine needles in the cool, morning wind, and the rumbling of cars on the road a few blocks down, Rose was hard-pressed to hear specifics. She wanted to rush back to the house, to press her ear to the wall as she had the night before, but trapped in the trees by daylight, it was all she could do to crane her neck closer.

There.

From the depths of the house, muffled and soft, came the sound of a quiet, timid whimper. Had she not been looking for it she doubted she would have heard it—it was as small and soft as a kitten's. The sound made the hair on her arms stand up—which was rare in itself—but the more she listened, the more she could match the little voice with the face in her mind.

That was Bella.

"Where is she?" growled Rose. "I swear to God…"

"Babe, no," barked Emmett, taking her by the arm. "You can't go in there…"

"She's hurt," said Rose. "You heard her…"

"Just watch," he begged. "Please, babe…"

"She'll hate us," breathed Rose, tugging against his firm grip. "If she ever finds out we sat here and watched, she'll hate everything about us…"

"She'll forgive us," he said. "She's a good kid. She'll understand…"

"I wouldn't," she said, falling back against his chest. "So help me God, if I knew you had watched while Royce King…"

"This man is not Royce King," boomed Emmett, a little louder than before. "You know that as well as I do. This man is a monster in a category all his own…"

"That doesn't make it better," spat Rose. "Let me go, Emmett. Enough is enough…"

Buzz.

The text had only one word.

Don't.

"See?" begged Emmett. "Look, Rose. Alice says no…"

"Fuck Alice," she growled. "Fuck the phone. Let me go."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Rose, stop!"

The sudden voice behind them made both of them start. In their struggle, neither had heard the approaching footsteps, light as rain on the forest floor. Their father had always been stealthy—he had learned silence during his early days, avoiding human contact. It was almost eerie how silent he was, how absolutely undetectable he could be when he wanted to avoid notice.

"Dad," sighed Emmett. "Why…?"

"Alice," he said simply, glancing carefully out at the house. "She saw you rushing in, Rosalie."

Rose bared her teeth. Carlisle was unfazed.

"So this is the house?" he asked, peering carefully through the small crack in the curtains. "Is that her father, there?"

Looking over, Rosalie saw the man from the night before—though now he was frowning, and dressed in jeans and flannel. She did not know exactly what the purpose of it was, but he seemed to be standing in front of a closed door near the front of the house. She could just see the door if she craned to the side—it was made of thick wood, and she caught the glint of a bolt lock on the outside.

The towel on the floor made her frown.

"That's him," she said, noting Carlisle's gentle hand on her shoulder. She knew he would restrain her if she tried to bolt. "Charles Swan."

"I know him," said Carlisle, his voice suddenly dark. "He works for the lumber mill just outside town. He's the one who drives the truck…"

Emmett scowled.

"The one who's always coming in with their injured?" asked Emmett, remembering the stories.

"Yes," said Carlisle. "I never imagined…"

"No one ever does." Rosalie was frustrated. "It's always the normal ones…"

"Yes," agreed Carlisle. "What is he doing?"

"Being a weirdo," said Emmett. "What's he keeping in there, do you think?"

"No idea…" Rose frowned. "But whatever it is, it can't be pleasant. He probably keeps it locked to keep his daughter out."

The three of them, necks craned, watched as Charles moved closer to the door. When he rattled the knob and a voice rang out, it took both Carlisle and Emmett to hold Rosalie back. The little voice was so small and plaintive...

"Let me out!"

"You have got to be kidding me!" Emmett was almost shouting. "That's fucked up…"

"Rosalie, no," said Carlisle, his voice stern. "You cannot rush in there…"

Her father's face, white as bone, was angrier than she'd ever seen it.

"Shut your mouth," barked Charles from inside the house. "What have I told you?"

"Let me out!" Rose could hear her fear—the heartbreaking, miserable sound of terror quavering in the child's voice. "Daddy, please!"

Carlisle was already on his phone.

"Yes, I'm calling to report an incidence of child abuse," said Carlisle. Rosalie, struck dumb with horror, watched as her father left the tree line and made a mad dash for the road. Emmett still held her fast, his eyes glued on their father, but his grip was beginning to slacken.

"Charles Swan, at one seventy three Harper Avenue. I'm walking by the house, and…"

Carlisle's voice grew fainter as he approached the front of the house.

"He's got her in a closet," said Carlisle. "She's crying."

Rosalie had had enough.

Breaking free from Emmett was easy when he was distracted, and as quickly as her father had, she followed him towards the road. Carlisle saw her and frowned—she knew he did not approve—but there was no admonishing buzz in her pocket from Alice. Emmett followed suit, not one to be left alone after the other two had blown their cover, and stood with his hands clenched on Charles Swan's front fence.

"Daddy, no!" The little voice made Rose's heart clench. She had to go in…

Buzz.

The police will be there in three minutes. Do not go inside.

Rose crushed her phone in her fist.

"My name is Doctor Cullen," she heard Carlisle say. "I'm a general surgeon at the hospital in town."

"How old is the child?"

"Six," said Carlisle. "Please hurry."

"Let me go!" said Rose angrily. "Emmett, please. You can hear her…"

"Three minutes babe," said Emmett. "I can hear the sirens myself…"

He was not wrong. About a mile in the distance, their loud, obnoxious wailing carrying on the wind, Rose could hear the approach of the officers.

"Rose, calm down," said Carlisle quickly, covering the speaker to hiss in her ear. "It's unbelievable, I know, but we will do more harm than good if we burst in."

"He's hurting her," said Rose frantically, pulling against Emmett to get nearer the house. "That's why her heart rate was up. He's hurting her…"

If Rosalie could cry, her face would have been slick with tears. She was angry. She was frustrated. She was so unbelievably sad, and the venom in her mouth made her want to bite…

The first cop car, speeding dangerously around the corner, came wailing into view, and Rose saw Charles Swan's head snap up.

"Fuck," he muttered, kicking the towel out of the doorway. "Damn it all to hell…"

He didn't even notice the trio of pale, angry faces outside the front of his house.

The bolt, thick and strong, slid loudly as he unlocked the door, scrabbling for the doorknob. The police officer had left his car, and was quickly making his way to the front door. Rose could see the curious faces of the neighbours poking out from windows, a few of the braver ones standing barefoot on their damp, dewy front lawns.

"What's going on?"

"Where's his kid?"

"Did someone get hurt?"

"Did someone break in?"

Just as the cop began to bang on the door—his fist rattling it in its frame—Charles Swan heaved the closet door open. Almost at once, the air was filled with the fragrant, sweet scent of blood.

Only Carlisle's eyes stayed their familiar honey-gold. Rose, even more frantic than before, felt her eyes turning black and her husband's chest began to rumble, but whether he was angry or tempted, she did not know.

"She's bleeding, Carlisle," she hissed, frantic as she gripped her father's arm. "There's blood…"

"I know," he said. "I'm going to go and offer my assistance."

And so he did. Envy filled her heart as she watched her father move up to the door, addressing the young deputy with a sharp strictness that Rose rarely heard. Carlisle procured his hospital ID—which Alice had had the foresight to press on him before he left—and was allowed to move past the struggling officer towards the closet.

It was only after the deputy had wrestled Charles Swan into handcuffs, cursing and spitting all the while, that Rose saw her father duck into the dark, bloody room.

"You two kids stay back," said the cop, forcing Charles into the back of his cruiser as two more cars rounded the corner. "Your father is looking at the girl, but that there is a crime scene."

Rosalie felt sick.

"Dad!" she shouted, leaning over the fence. "Where is she?"

"Do you know the girl?" asked the deputy quickly, locking the backseat of his car. Charles was staring at the floor.

"I volunteer at her school…" breathed Rose. "I spent some time with her…"

"It'll be good for her to see someone she knows," said the officer. "Was it you that called it in?"

"My dad did," said Emmett quickly. "Here he comes…"

Had her heart been beating, Rose had no doubt that it would have stopped right then and there. She had never seen Carlisle's face so angry—the white-lipped, snarling grimace he was directing at the man in handcuffs was so vitriolic that Rose wondered whether their mask of humanity would be broken. Even the officers looked taken aback—though nothing Carlisle was doing was an outright threat—and his angry, spiteful face was belied by the absolute gentleness exuded by the rest of him.

Held tightly in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, was the trembling little body of the child Rosalie had been so desperate to save.

"Bella!" she shouted, pulling free of Emmett's arms. "Bella!"

The little head snapped up. Her eyes, so wild, locked on Rose's face with a look of mingled horror and relief. She was so afraid—Rose did not need Jasper to see that—and her little mouth trembled as she reached out an arm…

"Careful, darling," crooned Carlisle, his hand holding her back. "You just rest. Rosalie is coming to see you…"

Something in Carlisle's eyes made her hesitate, though when she came close enough, the girl reached out and Rose did not deny her.

"Watch her arm," said Carlisle, holding it carefully in his grip. "It's broken."

Bella cried when the stairs jostled it.

"Shh, honey, it's okay," said Rose, running her hand down the girl's filthy hair. She smelled like blood and urine—Rose was sure she had wet herself at some point—and she could feel her little chest heaving as she drew in breaths. But even so, the weight of her in Rose's arms felt right—that deep, urgent need she had been feeling was finally gone. She could not focus on her father—who still had a careful, steadying grip on the broken bones of her arm—or on Emmett, who was glaring so harshly at the man in the back of the cruiser that she wondered how long it would be before he snapped. She knew Emmett would not hesitate to take a swing at him… at this point, Rose couldn't be totally sure her husband wouldn't try and take a bite out of him.

But when the little girl cried again—a high, keening sound that shook her to her core—Rose immediately held her a little tighter, her hand stroking down the back of her head.

"I'm so sorry, baby. You're safe now."

Little fists clenched around the collar of her shirt.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're safe."

She would not let her go.

A/N: Does this make you a little happier? I hope so.