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Important: This chapter contains descriptions of terminal illness and violence.
Chapter 10: Do What You Have To Do
"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
As soon as the door opens, a familiar but nasty smell invades my nose. The room is dark, creating shadows that hide the horrible machines hissing in the background. I despise it. The sounds, the sight, the smells, I hate it all. I feel my dad behind me, his hands guiding my shoulders as we move forward. The nurse gives me a sympathetic look as she walks out the door. Everybody knows that my mom is dying, and nobody knows what to say anymore. The principle even makes the school counselor check on me every morning. It feels like I'm the sick one.
"Bella," my mom whispers.
The hospital bed is huge compared to her tiny body. Her skin looks strange, pale with a hint of grey. Her once bright eyes are dull and watery surrounded by dark circles. As I approach, her fragile hand reaches out. I'm afraid to touch her.
"Hi, Mom," I chirp cheerfully, pasting a fake smile on my face. My dad squeezes my shoulders; he knows I'm trying my best to be brave.
"Come here." Her hand reaches out further, the simple act difficult in her weakened state.
"I'm here," I whisper, grabbing her hand and sitting in the chair next to the bed. I'm afraid that I will break her if I hold it too tightly.
"My beautiful daughter." She glances sadly towards my dad.
"I love you, Mom." I can feel the tears, but I force them back trying to be strong.
"I have a confession," she says, giving me a small and painful smile. "I was always jealous of you and your father."
"Why?"
"You understand each other in a way that's hard to describe. Your souls speak the same magical and adventurous language. It was difficult for someone as practical as me to comprehend."
"I'm sorry." Her admission saddens me. I never meant for her to feel left out, even though I know that Dad and I tend to get lost in our own world.
"Oh no, no, don't be sorry. I'm so glad that you have each other," she sighs glancing towards Dad again. "I never want you to lose that. You're going to need some magic."
"Okay," I whisper, but not understanding what she means.
"There's so much I want to say, to teach you… I wish I could watch you grow." Tears fall from her cloudy eyes. It makes her voice sound strange.
"I know." I don't know what else to say. Dad says our wishes won't change that she's dying, and my grief will only make her sadder.
"Bella, every time I look at you, I'm amazed by the strength I see radiating from within you. It makes me proud to be your mom."
"Really?"
"Yes. I see it now, and it tells me that you will survive no matter what comes your way. You are going to grow into an amazing leader. I just wish I could be there to see it."
"Mom." I lean my head against our hands, losing the battle against my tears. "I don't want you to go." I don't feel brave or strong anymore.
"Oh, Sweetie, I don't want to leave either, but you will carry on. You and your dad will help each other, and I know that one day you will find magic again."
"I love you," I say laying my head on her chest, her hand gently stroking my hair.
"I love you too, so much. Always choose happiness, Isabella, that is a choice we all have."
"I will. I promise."
"Come on. Your mom needs her rest," Dad says from behind me.
Standing up, I lean over for a hug, her chapped lips lingering on my forehead. Somehow, I know that this is the end. It is as if I can feel death himself lingering, waiting for me to leave so that he can take her.
The unknown future is frightening, almost overwhelming, until Dad takes my hand. "Together, kid. Always together."
Suddenly, things become hazy and distorted, quickly extinguishing the warmth of his words.
The hallway feels like it's closing in around us. The light dimming the further we walk, and yet the exit doesn't seem any closer. I tighten the hold on my dad's hand, but it starts to fade away, like wisps of fog in the breeze. Turning, I realize I am alone. Panic erupts as I try to grasp what's happening.
"Did you lose something, Ms. Swan?" I swing around to the piercing eyes of Riley. "Maybe I can help you find it." His fingers graze my arm.
"No, I'm fine," I say walking backwards.
"Come on, Bella. Let's get out of here," Sam says out of nowhere, grasping my elbow and glaring at Riley.
Riley smirks, waving his arm to go ahead. "Far be it from me to keep you." He turns to walk away, glancing back, a sinister laugh following his shadow.
"See, I told you that I was here for you," Sam whispers into my ear, his touch cold on my arm.
The hallway seems even darker. Disoriented, I wonder where Dad went. Is he coming back? Walking forward, Sam drags me along, but I feel like I'm moving in the wrong direction. "Are you taking me to my dad?" I ask, my feet stumbling when he walks faster.
"Of course, trust me."
"You can't trust him, Bella." Edward's voice rings out. His warm fingers slip around my other wrist, pulling me in the opposite direction of Sam. "Stay with me."
I turn towards him. His eyes radiating love as they plead with mine. "I don't know if I can," I tell him honestly.
"You know the truth," Mom says appearing in front of me. She looks healthy and young.
"Trust your instincts, kid. Don't let anyone else tell you what to believe." My dad materializes beside her, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder.
"You'll never win," Riley says from behind Sam. Edward's hand tightens around my wrist, his deadly eyes narrowed on the new player.
"The hell she won't," Dad growls.
Edward yanks me out of Sam's grasp, wrapping me tightly in his arms until my back is snug against his chest. I feel his head brush against mine as he leans down, his lips skimming my ear. "We'll get them. We'll get them all. I promise."
Everyone's faces whirl around me, their voices becoming garbled and unclear. Although I'm horribly confused, a paradoxical calm envelopes me within the protection of Edward's arms. "Together," he whispers. "Always together."
The memory-turned-dream chases me awake, confusing me long enough to forget where I am. Peeking my head out of the heavy quilt, my hazy mind recognizes the wood walls of Ben's cabin.
Shaking off the lingering confusion of the dream, I glance at my phone, surprised to see that it's already past ten. The chilly room assaults my exposed skin, the closed door preventing any heat from the fire in the living room from drifting in. Although the cabin is equipped with a heating system, the ancient metal vent on the floor sounds like it's on its last leg, the lukewarm air barely moving through it.
As toasty as the bed is, I know I should get up. There is a lot to do and Ben is probably waiting. Grabbing my bag, I move into the bathroom quickly, trying to outrun the cold. Turning on the shower, I'm pleasantly surprised that it warms up quickly; apparently, the water heater is one thing that works well. Stepping into the small space, I indulge in the steamy warmth for a couple of minutes before hurrying through the rest of my routine.
I'm glad that in my haste to leave, I had the forethought to bring warm clothes. The drafty air certainly doesn't feel as though the temperature is any warmer than it was last night. Pulling on thick socks, jeans, and a warm sweater, I feel surprisingly refreshed. The several hours of solid sleep really helped to rejuvenate me.
"Look who finally decided to join the land of the living," Ben quips as soon as I step out of the hallway.
"If I remember correctly, you were the one who told me to get some sleep, so suck it," I say childishly, sticking out my tongue for good measure.
Making my way to the kitchen, I grab a mug and fill it with coffee before walking over to him. He's sitting in front of his computer eating breakfast, papers scattered all around him. Given the state of his usually organized desk, it looks like he's been hitting it hard.
"What do you have in there?" I ask, leaning over his shoulder to peer in the bowl.
"Coco Puffs, the breakfast of champions. Want some?"
"Ugh, no. I'll stick with coffee thank you very much. You've certainly been busy."
"Unlike someone who shall remain nameless, I've been up for hours." He grins, twisting around to poke my side before becoming serious again. "I've been going through your dad's cases. I'm impressed, he was quite the detective."
I smile proudly at the compliment. "That he was." Glancing at the screen, I recognize the emblem of the Seattle PD. Ben's obviously been up to his hacking tricks again. "Find anything interesting?"
He spins in his chair, twirling a spoon around his fingers. "Yeah, the last case he was working on."
Dragging another chair over, I sit next to him looking closer at the screen. "What was it?"
"A murder case," he mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. "Actually, two."
"Double homicide?"
"No, he thought he was on the trail of a budding-" he picks up his spoon and holds it up with a sarcastic smirk, "-serial killer."
Rolling my eyes at the unimaginative pun, I focus on the screen. "He didn't mention anything about a major case."
"Yeah, well he was the only one that saw a connection between the two. According to e-mails from his supervisor, he was getting pressure to let it go."
"That doesn't make sense. He was well respected, and I doubt he would make that kind of claim without having the evidence to back it up."
"Given his other work, I don't doubt that, but these cases were pretty random. At first glance, I could see why people would scoff."
"Tell me about them." I scoot closer, scanning the scribbles and pictures Ben drew on scratch paper, probably his way of organizing his thoughts as he sifted through the files.
"Two women, Samantha Whitely and Katie Marshall." Free of his spoon, Ben's fidgety fingers pick up a pen.
"What's the connection?"
"Not much besides being brunette and stabbed." Ben moves the pen to his mouth and grabs one of his papers. "Samantha was a…lady of the night, as they say. She had a lengthy criminal record for drugs, theft, solicitation, and assault. Katie, on the other hand, was a well-respected college professor with no criminal record. The murders took place several months apart. Samantha was the first victim. Apparently, she had no family or friends that missed her because no one reported her disappearance. The killer left her behind a dumpster. According the autopsy, she'd been dead a few of days by the time someone discovered her." Setting the paper back down, he takes the pen and taps it lightly against the desk. "Which kind of makes you wonder what that alley smelled liked if no one noticed the stink," Ben remarks sarcastically.
"No kidding," I scoff. Clearly, the murder took place in a part of town where things tend to go unreported. "And Katie?"
"She was reported missing right away, but found several weeks later by a hiker on an isolated trail. Her autopsy indicated she died shortly after her disappearance and was dumped right away."
"He didn't keep her hostage," I conclude.
"Nope, whatever he did, he did quickly."
"Well, you're right, they certainly don't appear similar."
"Not at all. The first is a high-risk victim and a high-risk MO with little precaution. The complete opposite of the second, which is a low-risk victim and an apparent low-risk MO. Switching those two variables quickly requires a steep learning curve."
"Intelligence," I surmise making my own mental notes.
"Right, but that would also contradict the carelessness of the first victim."
"Unless there are others that haven't been discovered. Maybe we don't have the complete picture of this person's evolution."
"Maybe, but without a common denominator to narrow our search, we're kind of screwed. Besides, your dad already tried that and didn't come up with anything," Ben points out.
"Crap," I hiss. "Okay, even though it's rare, maybe he did escalate quickly."
"It's possible, but we still need a connection."
"How about the wound pattern or knife? Anything there?"
"Umm, possibly." Ben spins back around to pull up the crime scene photos, putting each case on a separate monitor for an easier comparison. "If we go with the escalation theory, the wound pattern might make sense."
"You don't sound convinced."
"The knives were different, so without something else, all we have is a thin assumption that you could technically make between any two cases."
"Understood." I realize we have nothing solid, but I trust Ben's postulations over most people's conclusions any day. "Now, what's the thin assumption?"
"See here," Ben says pointing to the pale body of the first victim. "The depths of the stab wounds differ. It's random, almost savage. The guy just went for it."
"He went crazy stabbing her," I murmur, looking at the jagged slices all over her chest and stomach.
"It might not have been intended. Maybe something went wrong. He had to act quick and—"
"He liked it too much to stop," I say completing Ben's thought.
"Exactly. The second, however, is more precise. He went for vital areas. The first would have been a bloody mess. The second was more contained."
"He liked the kill, but not the mess."
"If we are talking about the same guy, which at this point is a really big if."
"And if my dad wasn't murdered, I'd be more leery, but he obviously stumbled onto something big," I argue.
"Hey, I'm not disagreeing, but we can't just chase shadows either."
"Okay, okay." I sigh knowing that Ben is right. Ultimately, we need proof. "Let's stick to the basics. My dad had a great instinct, so something caught his eye. How did he come across the cases in the first place?"
"Chance. They were assigned randomly. In fact, the second case was only given to him after another detective was held over in court and couldn't go to the crime scene."
"What did he see then?"
"It's not clear. In the write-up of the second case, he mentions a similarity to the other investigation, but nothing to identify what it was."
"That's odd." A good detective knows you can't make a statement like that in an official record without specifying the evidence. My dad would not make that type of mistake.
"Yeah, odd," Ben breathes, twirling his pen again. "What I'm about to say goes against the 'not chasing shadows declaration', but fuck it. I think someone altered his notes."
"Considering things keep disappearing in that precinct, I'm not surprised." The tampering of documents on a case that he was getting pressure to drop is surely not a coincidence.
"Well, here's another juicy layer for you to chew on. Whoever messed with them did a really crappy job."
"Why do you say that?" I ask.
"His other notes had a distinct style. They were succinct and understandable. These," he says pulling up another document, "are clumsy. There are holes and missing words."
"Why go to all the trouble then?"
"Either the person was rushed or they weren't worried about someone looking at them closely," Ben suggests.
"Because someone had the power to keep it quiet, someone like Riley Biers. He could easily have a person working for him on the inside."
"But this doesn't seem like his brand of crime," Ben counters, glancing back at me.
"It's not," I begrudgingly agree. "He'll kill people to get ahead or if they cross him. It's about his power, not for the love of killing, which seems to be the case here. But, my dad still had that symbol in his journal. So, what are we missing?"
"My guess? He's playing cleanup."
Considering his theory, I mentally flip through what I remember about Riley's personal life. "All of his relationships are for secondary gain. I don't remember reading about anyone he would put himself at risk for."
"Unless it was one of his people. Their bad behavior would have put him at risk."
"That does make the most sense," I agree.
"Still, how do we prove it?" Ben questions almost to himself, scrolling through different files. "Fuck, I wish I had access to your dad's computer. If he suspected foul play at the precinct, my bet is he started keeping things elsewhere." Ben looks over uncertainly. "You didn't by chance keep it did you."
"No, I donated his desktop after investigators copied the hard drive."
"Hmm." Ben looks back at the files. "If they downloaded his hard-drive, I wonder where those files ended up."
"There's no mention of them?"
"Not that I've found, which just solidifies that someone is tampering with shit. Let me see if I can figure out what happened to them."
"What about a tablet?" I ask, realizing that I might have more information than I realize.
"Huh?"
"I have his tablet. I gave it to him so we could Skype, that's all he really used it for. He wasn't the most technologically advanced."
"If it was connected to his desktop, it's possible some files were transferred. Do we need to take a road trip to San Fran?"
"No, I have it with me," I clarify. "Hold on."
Getting up, I go to the bedroom to grab the tablet from the depths of the side pocket in my briefcase. I know it's strange, but I've carried it with me since his death. We Skyped the day before he died; it was the last time I saw him. Somehow, even though I never turn it on, carrying it makes me feel closer to him. Walking back, I lift up my prize.
"I'll be damned, Justice. Let's see what secrets it holds," Ben cheers with a wide smile.
Flipping it around, I hit the power button with lackluster results. "Damn."
"What's wrong?"
"The battery's probably dead and I don't have the charger."
"Ah, that's not a problem." Ben moves to his wire shelves and rummages through a box on the bottom. "Here, this should work." He pulls out a cord and hands it to me. Sure enough, it slides easily into the power outlet.
Plugging it into the surge protector by the desk, I hold my breath and switch it on, hoping, however improbable, that it holds the answers to our long list of questions. Ben reaches out and takes it, plugging the tablet into his computer monitor.
"Do you know his password?" He asks when the first screen comes to life.
"Bella42," I respond immediately. "It was his password for everything."
Ben glances back, "Bella I get. Is there a story behind the number?"
"Jackie Robinson's baseball jersey." I wistfully smile, thinking about when I asked the same question. The Mariners were always his team, but he thought Jackie was the ultimate player.
"You weren't kidding about your dad not being technologically minded," Ben utters looking at the screen as it comes to life. It has no personalization with very few programs and apps.
"He really hated the thing, but since he liked seeing me when we talked, he tolerated using it. I don't think he touched it for anything else."
"Looks like your dad might have been savvier than you thought." Ben points to the screen at an unnamed folder filled with a long list of unnamed documents. Clicking open the first document, the Seattle PD emblem shows up. It's a screen shot of his notes from Katie's case. "Jackpot!"
"Holy shit!" I'm shocked that something is actually on it. "He definitely suspected someone in the department if he did this. You know, Sam said that Internal Affairs was investigating my dad and several other people. Who's to say the others aren't viable suspects."
Ben continues to scroll through the list of documents. Since they are all unnamed, it will take some time to sort through everything that's here. "It's a theory worth checking out," he agrees, minimizing the list of documents to pull up another screen. "It's going to take me a bit to get in. I haven't hacked that database before."
"How long will it take you?"
Ben turns to face me again, "No more than a day, but I think we need to focus on your dad's files first. That should narrow down where we need to look when we get in."
"That makes sense."
"Oh, by the way, I sent that photograph off to be analyzed," he mentions off-handedly. "I'm hoping that it provides us with some new leads too."
"The one of Edward and Riley." I clarify, catching up with his train of thought.
He nods his head. "I have a friend who does forensic photography. He has better equipment than I have here to authenticate it."
"You think it's been tampered with?" The thought eases my mind more than I expected, a part of me desperate to know whether Edward lied about his contact with Riley. "How quickly will we know?"
"Tomorrow at the latest."
"So, if it is fake, why would my dad have it?" I wonder aloud.
"We need to see what the analysis says before we can answer that. Hell, we don't even know if he put it there. Which is why I'm also having it tested for prints and any other specific markers that will tell us its origin."
Absorbing this morning's conversation, I look around at all the papers with a satisfied grin. I'm finally within reach of untangling this mess. "Thank you," I say leaning over too rest my head against Ben's shoulder appreciatively. "I wouldn't have any of this without you."
"That's why I'm here." He playfully ruffles my hair before I sit back up. "And don't think I've forgotten about checking up on Sam's misinformation-giving ass either. He's on my list too."
"And Edward," I add.
"And Edward," Ben affirms. "I'll start on those background checks when I get back." The words tumble from his lips quickly, his eyes downcast.
"Get back?" I ask confused.
"I got a call this morning. I need to leave for a couple of days to deal with a case," Ben says lowly, still struggling to look at me.
"Oh," I sigh, losing the momentum I felt earlier. "When do you leave?"
"In a couple of hours. I really don't want to do this, but I'm hoping to wrap this other thing up so I can devote all of my time to you."
"You don't need to explain it to me, I know you're busy. I basically bombarded your life by coming here."
"Not at all." Ben finally looks up, gracing me with a smile. "I'm glad you called. If this wasn't critical, I would—"
"Like I said, I completely understand. You have to go, and in the meantime, I'll get a head start on these documents," I respond brightly, trying to ease the guilt I see in his eyes.
"Smart girl. You're welcome to use anything you need. Just make yourself at home. And I'll be in touch, especially if I hear anything back on the picture." Ben glances at his phone. "I've still got a little bit of time, why don't you tell me more about this butterfly thing. The whole concept fascinates me."
"Better yet, let me show you." Walking quickly into the bedroom, I grab the sketch I did before I left. "Here it is," I say taking it back to Ben. "Or at least my best representation of it. I don't think I got the symbol quite right, but Sam said that it meant master."
"And according to him, Riley has a thing for butterflies, right?" Ben questions, looking closely at the sketch.
"Yes, I guess he uses several different types, although the investigation didn't focus too much on them. Sam just thought it was a 'girly' obsession."
"The butterfly is actually a powerful symbol in many cultures. In general, it represents re-birth and transformation. The Greek, Irish, Russian, and Mexican cultures believe they represent the soul, although each has a bit of a different interpretation for how. Chinese culture on the other hand, connects them to a long life, and in Japan they represent a happy marriage or love," Ben rattles off quickly, a spark in his eyes. He may call me a justice junkie, but he is clearly a knowledge junkie.
"Thank you, Mr. Wikipedia, that was very helpful," I smirk. "But where does that leave us?"
"If we hedge bets, I would say he likes it because of the soul or transformation meanings. We just need to narrow down whether the symbol means that he sees himself a master of all souls or that he's transforming into one." Ben doodles swirling butterflies on his paper, his mind working through the information.
"Maybe my dad found something. There had to be some reason he drew it in his journal."
"Let's hope we find something in that file. I'm thinking I might need to take a peek at Sam's files too and see what they have to say."
"Isn't it a whole new level of risky to hack into the FBI's computers?"
"Yup!" Ben cracks his knuckles. "I told you, I love a challenge. They won't even know I was there," he declares.
"You scare me sometimes."
Ben laughs and checks his phone once again, suddenly sitting up straighter. "Shit. I have to go. Things are starting earlier than I thought. You good?" he ask quickly, getting up to grab his coat and a bag that is on the table.
"I'm good. Be safe!" I shout as he flies towards the door.
He turns to throw me a mischievous grin. "Of course. Lock the door behind me!" he yells slamming the door shut behind him.
Walking slowly towards the door, I do as requested before sitting on the sofa next to the fire. In the sudden stillness, I find myself categorizing the various sounds of the cabin. rationalizing that I should identify them now before the dark descends making everything seem more threatening. It's only been a few minutes, but I already feel incredibly isolated. I would never begrudge Ben being able to do his job, but being out here alone is not what I signed up for when I called. Getting up to refill my coffee, I decide to start digging into those documents. The more I can do before Ben returns the better. Besides, the distraction will be good.
Several hours later, I lean back to stretch my back and crack my neck, feeling the fatigue of sitting in front of the computer for so long. The first several documents were screenshots from Samantha's and Katie's case files, the documentation is detailed and succinct. Once we compare them to what is in Seattle's database now, I suspect we will have solid proof that someone is tampering with evidence. I'm hoping that Ben can also prove the database was changed after my dad's death, which will go a long way in being able to prove his innocence.
Focusing back on the task, I open the next one, surprised to see a word document. It's a long list of dates, times, and topics of phone conversations. Apparently, my dad was sharing his suspicions with someone else. Glancing through the topics, I would guess that he was helping to build a case. Unfortunately, the document doesn't give any clue as to who they were or where they worked. The last documented conversation occurred about a week before his death and seemed to follow the schedule of the others. On the bottom of last page is an address, next to the name Riley Biers with several questions marks.
"What did you find, Dad?" I mumble writing the address down quickly.
Minimizing the document, I pull up Google Maps wanting to see exactly where it is located. Zooming in closer, my heart drops as the picture clears. I recognize the neighborhood immediately. I stared at the same view for hours several months ago. Disturbingly, the address is only a couple blocks away from where he was murdered. Picking up my phone, I immediately call Ben, frustrated, but not surprised when it goes straight to voicemail.
"Damn it!" We need to check out that address. Besides the drawing, this is the first solid lead I've found that could connect Riley to his death.
Going back to the computer, I put the address into Google, seeing if anything comes up about the building itself. According to the screen, it's just a residence and not associated with any businesses. Pulling up maps again, I hit street view. The brick building is rundown and right in the middle of an industrial neighborhood. There are no signs that I can see, just a single door covered by meshed screen with an apartment buzzer to the right of it. The only business close by is a twenty-four hour liquor store on the corner. Nothing I can find tells me anything about what it is, who owns it, or if anyone lives there.
Glancing blurry-eyed at the screen, I sit and contemplate my next move. I really want to see the place in-person, yet my logical side scoffs at the stupidity of the thought. Without more to go on, I would be walking in blind. Picking up my phone, I start to call Ben again, but quickly throw it down realizing that I'm being selfish. The last thing I want to do is to put him at risk by calling at the wrong moment.
I consider calling Emmett or Rose, but I don't want to put them in a bad position either. I know they want to help, but both of their offices are involved. Having proof that someone is tampering with things within the Seattle PD makes me leery to trust other agencies right now. I can't ask them to risk their careers by lying about helping me investigate the address.
Scrolling through my phone, my fingers linger over Edward's number. It's crazy that after all this time, my first instinct is still to call him when things are falling apart. However, in this instance, I don't need to call to know what he would think. Edward was always overly protective, sometimes to a fault. He would blatantly tell me it's crazy and not worth the risk.
My contemplative trance is unexpectedly broken when I notice Alice's name lighting up the phone. It's amazing how she always seems to know when I need someone. Although I can't share what I've learned, I find myself eager to hear a friendly voice.
"Hey."
"I've got to say I'm a little hurt, missy. I'm supposed to be the Thelma to your Louise. How in the hell can I be your partner in crime when you run off without even calling me?" Her admonishing words rush out with barely a breath between them.
"As much fun as that would be, this was one adventure I couldn't drag you into, Al."
She lets out a long sigh. "I know. I just wish there was more that I could do to help."
"And the fact that you're willing is exactly why I love you, but I can't let you get involved. I'm glad that you called though."
"I am too, although, I still want to strangle you," she jokes. "Are you okay?"
"I'm surviving, and I think I'm finally getting some answers."
"Good, that's good." The phone is silent for a bit. "What about Edward?"
"What about him?"
"What's going between the two of you? Rose told me that he spent the night at your place." Her suggestive tone tells me that she's reading a lot into what happened.
"It wasn't like that," I grumble.
"Then what was it like?"
"We talked. And not about half the things we should have…he said he loves me," I admit quietly.
"And what do you think about that?"
"I don't know. I'm still so angry, but on the other hand, I'm starting to recognize that he's really trying to prove himself. I just don't know if I can trust him yet."
"That's understandable, but…" she trails off.
"But?" I ask, pushing her to complete her thought.
"Edward has always looked at you in a way that's hard to describe. It never made sense to me how that could go away so suddenly. Maybe the answer is that it didn't."
"Hmm," I hum. Visions of soulful green eyes invade my consciousness.
"Now, don't get me wrong, you're my girl, so if you decide to hate him forever, I'm with you. I'm just saying that it might not be as clear cut as you think."
"How do I start trusting him again?"
"I don't think there's an easy answer to that, but how can you even start without knowing the whole story?"
"I would love to know the whole story, but he sensors everything."
"Then don't let him get away with it. If he wants you to talk to him and give him a chance, put your foot down. He can't get any closer to you until he tells you everything."
"Uh huh," I mumble.
"Uh huh, nothing. Truth?"
"Always."
"I think a part of you likes the fact that he's holding things back."
"I don't—"
"Just listen. You're so afraid of what you might hear that you don't push the issue. It's easier to just be pissed at him."
Her words hit hard, the phone once again silent as she lets me process what she said. "Maybe you're right," I admit quietly. "And if things are going to change, I can't let his excuses slide anymore."
"No you can't."
"What would I do without you, Al?"
"Probably flounder through life, lost and incredibly bored," she giggles.
I laugh along with her. "Sadly, you are probably correct. Thank you for always telling me what I need to hear, no matter how hard I try to ignore it."
"Aww, I love you too…hold on a sec." I can tell she pulled the phone away from her mouth, the speaker crackling around muffled voices.
"Alice?"
"Hey, Bella, Jasper needs to talk to you, he says it's important."
"Okay, put him on."
"Here he is, oh, and don't forget, if you need a partner in crime—"
"You'll be the first one I call."
"Better be! Love you," she says before transferring the phone over.
"Bella, how are you doing?" Jasper's concerned voice asks right away.
"I'm okay. What's going on? Do you have news about Diego?"
"Yeah, it was definitely the CIA that took over. They're holding him under the Patriot Act, and from what I can tell, there's no trial date set for arraignment."
"They're using the indefinite detention provision," I infer.
"It would appear so."
"Shit. This just complicates everything. How about Riley's case? Is it still moving forward?"
"Don't shoot the messenger," Jasper says hesitantly. "But that's what I needed to talk to you about."
"What?"
"The good news is that Garrett is impressed with what you've done so far. It set a good foundation to keep moving forward. He's working with Sam on executing the warrants and putting the missing pieces that you pointed out together."
"And the bad news?"
"Garrett is adding charges related to your dad."
"His murder?" I ask uneasily.
"No. Bribing him to tamper with evidence."
"What?" I scream jumping up. "He can't do that! That hasn't been proven yet."
"I know, but he's convinced. Sam brought him some damning evidence. Garrett's decided to bring those charges first, and then add the others later. He's worried if they take too long to make a move, Riley will leave the country."
"How long?" I ask numbly. Whatever their timetable is, Ben and I have to beat it.
"Early next week."
"Then I only have couple of days," I mumble quietly.
"What?" Jasper asks.
"Nothing. Thanks for the update."
"What do you want me to do, Bella?"
"Just keep me in the loop. Oh, and could you send me the list of charges? I want to know exactly what I am up against."
"Of course, I'll e-mail them now. What are you going to do? I know you won't sit back and let them do this to Charlie. What's your plan?" Jasper asks blatantly. He knows me well.
"I have some ideas," I say hesitantly, thinking about the address.
"Should I be worried?"
"No, but I might need you to run interference if things take longer than I expect."
"Just let me know what you need."
"Thanks, Jasper. I don't know what I would do without you or Alice. I'm lucky to call you my friends."
"You mean your family," he corrects.
"Family," I confirm. "Listen, I've got to go."
"You'd better take care of yourself and keep in touch so we know that you are okay."
"I will."
Hanging up, I sit back down and pick up the paper with the address. Jasper's news changes things. If I want to prevent them from ruining my dad I need to act fast, which makes waiting for Ben's job to end extremely problematic.
Deciding that enough time has passed, I log into my e-mail account. Nothing. Tapping my fingers across the desk, I eagerly await the list. Glancing down through my inbox, an e-mail entitled "Hide and Seek" catches my attention, especially since I don't recognize the sender's e-mail address. Clicking on it, I sit back in the chair stunned by the words taunting me from the screen.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!
You can't hide forever, Ms. Swan. You and I still need to have a chat, and in case you are thinking about ignoring my request, it would be wise to remember that you are not the only one with something to lose. Is it worth it?"
Underneath is an attachment. Once it loads, I'm horrified to see dozen of images of my friends on the screen. Emmett, Rose, Jasper, and Alice, all engaged in various activities, oblivious to the fact that they were under surveillance. Any hesitation I had about not waiting for Ben disappears as I scroll through the images.
"You don't make rash decisions." Edward's voice cuts through my mental chatter mocking me.
"You have a core of strength radiating through you." My mom's voice drifts in, refuting my apprehension.
"I have to do this," I confirm, shutting down the voices of doubt. I know the plan forming in my head isn't the best idea, but at this point, I honestly don't care. I have to protect my friends. I can't let them share the same fate as my father.
"Together, kid." My Dad's voice echoes, reminding me that I can overcome anything.
"Together," I whisper. I owe him this. I need to finish what he started, and find answers before it's too late.
Deciding to get the list from Jasper later, I log out of my e-mail to search for flights. Pulling up Expedia, I scroll for any flights going to Seattle in the next few hours out of Sacramento. Watching as my options load, I pause, realizing that I need to be smarter about this. An airline ticket is like a flashing arrow to my whereabouts.
Deleting the destination, I type in New York instead. Anyone who has researched me will know that I graduated from Columbia Law School. Although I decided that New York wasn't where I wanted to settle, I still love to visit a couple of times a year. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for me to go there now. Let these assholes track me there instead.
After booking a redeye flight from Sacramento to New York, I turn off the computer. Taking a piece of paper, I scrawl the address and an explanation for Ben, asking him to follow me as soon as he can. I know he will be livid, but I don't have the luxury of waiting anymore.
Grabbing the tablet, I run into the bedroom and grab my bags before heading to the kitchen to rummage for things to take on my journey. Finding a travel mug, I decide to make an extra strong pot coffee; I'm going to need the caffeine. While it brews, I throw several granola bars, apples, and a banana into a bag. I have a fourteen-hour drive ahead of me and not a lot of time to stop for breaks.
The narrow road doesn't seem as intimidating as it did in the dark, allowing me to take the turns quicker than last night. I keep glancing in the rearview mirror, paranoid that the guy who sent the e-mail is not far behind. However, the mirror reflects nothing but trees and dirt until I turn onto the main road. Reaching over to the passenger seat, I place my hand on my overnight bag, feeling for the solid shape of the gun. Touching the extra security allows me to swallow my fear and ease my nerves.
"I'm just going to check it out," I rationalize. "Then we will be able to move faster once Ben arrives. Nothing to worry about."
Heading east, the sun disappears as the dark clouds roll in, casting the forest in a dreary light. Turning on some music, I try to drown out the voice telling me that it is an omen for the journey to come.
Is it an omen? Turn in next week. :)