Chapter 10

Fantastic.

My alter ego is leaving me notes on how I should treat Isabella Swan.

What I remember from yesterday is getting into Jasper's car. Changing into my suit in the backseat—the goddamn back seat of a 1986 Plymouth like some high school kid for fuck's sake. I remember entering through a window on the top floor, but then once inside the school my memory goes black. Not a damn thing until this morning. Even the blurred clips that'd shuffled through my mind last time evade me.

I left myself a note about Isabella. Not what went down inside the school or what happened after. Be nice to Isabella. And I wish I knew why her welfare was so much more important than anything else. Instead I watched myself on television. A skewed version of heroism versus recklessness is all I have to go by.

You'd think I'd be more considerate to myself.

I'm losing it.

"You're really wound up today," Jasper says.

"Shouldn't you be scrambling eggs at Marie's?" I say to him. I don't glance his way, instead focusing straight ahead, waiting for Tanya Conley and crew to take the mic for a press conference. I'm an outsider to my life, and I hate it. Never mind that I could turn the watch on his wrist into a puddle of gold, or unravel the scarf on the woman who stands in front of me just by a single touch, if I wanted. Whatever I can do in the suit is staying with me longer and longer. I warmed a cold cup of coffee on the way over, but I have no idea if by lunch I'll be able to do it again.

Still, I can do it now. Probably scale City Hall, too.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I'm taking a break," I tell him. School can wait for a while. "It's really none of your business anyway."

"Christ, Edward." He leans closer, lowering his voice. "You're a hero. Lighten up."

I laugh and it comes out more sardonically than intended. Whatever. Jasper mutters something under his breath, and I ignore him until Tanya, Swan, and Mayor Black step up to the podium.

Tanya shuffles a few papers then sets them in front of her. She wears her game face, but then I suppose she always does. As she opens her mouth to speak, the clicking and flashing of cameras begin. Eyes on her, I roll my neck. Make it pop and crack, and it feels good, for a second. But then she opens her mouth to speak. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to take this time to thank the police officers and emergency personnel for their efforts in the apprehension of James Michael White yesterday. Their bravery during the hostage situation ensuring the children and staff of Grimshire Elementary remained unharmed is to be commended. Mr. White is being held outside of Delphian in an undisclosed location until trial…"

Someone deep in the crowd cuts her off, shouting, "What about Vanquish?" and I tilt my head toward Jasper. "They're hiding him from me."

"Let them." Jasper jerks his head toward Tanya and smiles.

She says, "We don't make it practice to condone the acts of criminals." Mayor Black and Swan stand stiffly off to the side. Both have their eyes trained somewhere, over the heads of everyone and neither give away a thing. Whether they agree with her or not is a mystery. I'm not sure why they're here other than being an accessory to the We Hate Vanquish position Tanya passionately upholds. "Vanquish is a wanted man. He's wreaked havoc on this city by costing you, honest taxpayers, unnecessary dollars because of his antics. Not to mention, he's wanted for questioning for murder. It's not in this city's best interest to forgive those actions because he was able to throw Mr. White from a third story window."

"He saved those kids!"

"White deserved it!"

And with those, more pro-Vanquish concessions are yelled toward Tanya. This is going to turn into a circus any minute.

"What're your thoughts? Are you for or against Vanquish?" asks a small brunette as Tanya tries to regain control. The brunette's glasses are perched on the edge of her nose and she peeks up, pauses scribbling in her notebook. Angela Weber has weaseled through the small mass of bodies and has ironically ended up next to me.

"I don't really care either way," I tell her.

"He's for Vanquish," Jasper interrupts. "As everyone should be." Jasper narrows his eyes at me, and I want to laugh at his reprimanding expression.

"So you think Miss Conley is wrong?" Angela asks. "Everything she said is true. He has caused a lot of damage to this city that's had to be paid for by people like you and me."

Jasper says, "What's a few dollars compared to our safety?"

She writes in her notebook then looks up at me. "Sure you don't have anything to add? Now's your chance to let the people know your thoughts."

Jasper nudges my elbow, and if I don't say something he'll surely speak for me. "He's just trying to do the right thing," I say then step forward.

By now the crowd is shouting in unison, but it's all just a cacophonous mess; Tanya has no control over these people. Finally, Mayor Black steps up.

He holds up his hands and wears the calmest expression he can muster. Black is a professional politician through and through. He says, "Ladies and gentlemen, please. Please, let's not get upset about this." He goes on until he has their ear, tries to explain Tanya's point of view as though he's acting as mediator, and then Swan steps up and nods to the mic, practically pushing Black aside.

"I'd like to address Vanquish directly," Swan says, and suddenly Jasper is right by my side again. "If you're listening, if you're in this crowd today…" He's very good. People instantly glance around, searching, but have no idea for what—sure as hell isn't me—and they're enamored with what he has to say. "I have a proposition for you. Just you and I speaking man to man. I'd like to ask for your assistance in something," he says. Tanya's jaw tightens, her eyes go wide for a second before she arranges her face to appear as if she's aware of Swan's plan.

My first thought is this is clearly some kind of ploy of his, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious, because Tanya has yet to unclench her fists, and I assume she has no idea what he's up to. The Mayor just stands there, smiling and nodding.

"I promise you won't be in danger, Vanquish. Contact me and we'll work on bridging this gap," he says, then pats the podium twice then three times.

"He's going to get hundreds of calls and every lunatic is going to show up on the police station's doorstep," Jasper says.

I shift from one foot to the other, watching the three of them walk back inside City Hall. "Probably," I say. "I have to run so I'll see you later."

"What? Where are you going? We have a few things to do, Edward," Jasper says under his breath.

"Later," I tell him. "This can't wait."

My father has his hands clasped together between his knees. His shoulders are stiff, as is every other inch of him, and he's yet to look up at me. He sits in a simple desk chair, I'm sitting on the edge of his single bed, and even though there's five feet between us it feels as though there's none and one hundred.

I started out with one thing in mind: to find the ones who'd hurt my family, but in the past weeks I've gone off course. Diverted by the thing that was supposed to give me the means to find and destroy.

I'd lived a lifetime hating my father, blaming him for things that were out of his control, and now here I am hunting for answers irrelevant to any of it. Not in a millions years would I have wagered that I'd seek his help with anything, and what's even more surprising is how much I hate this place he's condemned to.

"I've worn the suit," I tell him, but he doesn't react. I have to stop myself before I sound as if I'm speaking to a child. This whole gentle approach thing is foreign, but I keep my tone as even as possible. "Do you know what I'm talking about?" He barely nods. Okay, good. He can understand me. "It's had a strange affect on me."

His brow creases, and then his foot taps against the floor as quickly as a rabbit's heartbeat.

"Carlisle," I say, but his foot is still going, his knuckles are turning white, and he takes shaky breaths through his nose. "Carlisle…Dad!"

His head shoots up, and his body goes rigid again. "I…I'm sorry." He stares at me for a moment with those cloudy eyes of his. "Rose?"

Hearing my father say my sister's name is as strange as calling him dad. Yesterday, I might have had an acerbic reply, but today I can't find it within myself to be cruel. "She's safe. Sleeping."

"That's good," he says. "You keep her."

I can only nod. Rising from the bed, I walk over to his window and lean against it. The fog is thick hovering over the hills out there, but not that bad and still, no one is outside, and I wonder if they ever allow anyone to walk the grounds. Looking back at my father, he's in the same position he was when I first arrived, and I don't know whether to press him or try again another time. I glance around.

He has one photo taped to his wall. It's a 4x5 of the four of us: him, my mother, sister, and me. We're standing in front of our house in one of those family poses that are taken right after you've turned the lights on for the first time at Christmas. Rose is twelve, and I'm nine—I remember this picture being taken. We'd worked all morning and most of the afternoon putting up those decorations. My father had stayed for dinner, and then he left not to return until Christmas Eve.

I clear my throat. This is the only picture he has in his room. I pull out my wallet and slide out Rose's graduation picture. Kneeling in front of him, I hand him the photo and say, "Here."

He smiles and like the last time I saw him, he begins to cry a little. "I need you to listen to me. The suit you made works, but there are some…side effects, apparently." Carlisle's eyebrows knit together, and before he zones out again I think the easiest way for him to understand, to keep his attention is to show him.

I walk back to the window. "Just…watch." It's been a few hours—I'm not positive I'll still be able to do anything, but I have to try.

Nothing happens at first, and I spread my fingers wider against the glass, concentrate harder. But then I feel the slightest shudder. One crack then three then more splinter out, reaching the edge of the glass. Carlisle continues to stare. He's not shocked or horrified or even enlivened, but he's focusing.

This part is more difficult, so I put him out of my mind, close my eyes. I curl my fingers inward, pulling, willing the cracks to shrink until they've disappeared.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"No."

Carlisle sets Rose's picture on the floor then lifts his hands up to his face. With the index finger of his right, he makes circles on the palm of his left. He taps his finger against his palm then acts as if he's writing on it. He rocks and hums while he does this; I give him a few moments. I have no idea what I'm dealing with, what this means, or if tomorrow he'll remember. Or if he'll say anything to anyone, like Jasper.

Jasper. He was the one who'd taken that picture of us. I remember. Yet it's the only photograph he's provided for my father. Is this too much?

"Carlisle."

"Yes," he says, still writing on the palm of his hand.

"Can you tell me why this is happening?"

He drops his hands and looks down again, shaking his head.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up Rose's photo and hand it to him. "Alright. I'll see you another time."

My hand's on the knob of the door, and just as I turn it he tells me that he loves me.

Perhaps I should have offered some kind of response before I closed the door behind me, but I'm not ready for that type of reunion. Don't know if I'll ever be.

These halls are long and narrow and stark, and I consider, for a second, if maybe my father would do well somewhere else. Taking a left toward the exit, I near the common room which exudes the only sounds of life in this place, so that second turns into something a little bit longer, and I wonder if I even have the power to remove him.

I pass by the room, glance over and Alice is staring at me through the window. She bangs on the door hard, repetitively, and her crazy eyes narrow. She purses her lips and kisses the glass. "Edward! Edward!" she growls through it, "I love you, Edward!" and then she's snatched away.

Outside the asylum, I pull out my phone and type a text to Jasper, asking his thoughts about relocating my father. But then I hit delete—what if I am able to move him and he's made worse. I can't take that risk right now.

Once twilight has long since morphed into night, I head to Sages Bridge, which is accessed only by 23rd Avenue. Two then three taps on the podium and a mention of bridging the gap—this is where Swan wants to meet me. He's not very creative.

Now, he can't climb the suspension cables nor can he travel the grates underneath. The walking path is lit, though sporadically by few working lights, so I'm curious as to where he expects to have this mano a mano conversation.

He gave no time or date but he's an immediate kind of guy, so here I am. However, I won't wait long.

Bums have already gathered at both ends of the bridge, warming their hands over trash can fires. Undercover cops? Perhaps. Would he assume that'd I'd be standing on the upmost point of the bridge? Another probability. But there are no helicopters around—no whir of propellers or shadows atop any building. No sharpshooters that I can see either.

Still, for him to announce in public that he'd like to meet…well, I'm sure some of his colleagues wouldn't let him out of their site if he's gone rogue.

I let another twenty minutes pass before deciding to leave, but then a small boat slows to a drift and turns off it's overheads. A small light from the deck quickly flashes—twice, three times, and whoever is on the boat, because it isn't Swan, throws something into the river.

A/N: I'd like to quickly thank everyone for reading and reviewing, and also apologize for not replying this last time around, but I do appreciate and get a little giddy when you leave them.

I've also joined the world of Twitter. I'm boomboom_jones if you'd like to say hello.

Stay safe East Coasters.