A/N: Thanks so much for the amazing reviews and PMs, guys! I love hearing what you think about the story, and your comments help me think of things that make the story even better. I'm so grateful for each one of you.
Now, to pick up where we left off...
. . . . .
"I think you have some explaining to do, Bella Swan." His voice was deadpan.
Heat rose to my face. "Me?!" I sputtered. I was suddenly very, very angry. "I have some explaining to do?"
I shook the black folder at his stone-still back. "If anyone has any explaining to do, it's you."
He wheeled around so fast I didn't see him turn. And in a split second he was upon me.
He pulled the folder from my grasp and tore it open. He ripped out the other printouts of the boy—him?—in the hospital bed and held them in front of my face, along with the one he'd captured in the library.
His lips were tight against his teeth and his whole body was coiled as if he were ready to spring again. Instead, he spoke. His question echoed Jessica's.
"What are these."
Except it wasn't a question.
I grabbed the papers from his steely grasp and shoved them against his chest, the paper crinkling between his shirt and my fist.
He may be angry with me, but I was far angrier at him. Angry at him for knowing my secret. Angry at him for accusing me of whatever he was accusing me of. Angry at him for showing up and ruining the love affair I'd started with the long-dead version of him. Angry at him for making me like him even though I was sure something was terribly, terribly wrong with the real him.
"You know, Edward, maybe you'd better tell me what these are. Because they look an awful lot like you in a hospital bed in 1918 with your dad treating you for a fatal case of the Spanish Flu." His jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes burned. But that only toughened my resolve. It was time to get this out in the open, whatever the conclusion was. "But that isn't really possible, is it? So maybe you can enlighten me as to what the hell is going on here."
I shoved the papers harder against his body, but he was unmovable. It suddenly popped into my head how divinely hard his chest was. Flustered, I let go and backed away.
He plucked the papers out of midair and stared at the top photo. I watched him, but his face was stone and gave away nothing.
"That is what it appears to be, isn't it."
Again, not a question at all. But no answers, either. I was sensing a pattern.
"Where did you get these?" He looked at the second photo, and then the third and fourth. I watched him breathlessly, studying the planes of his face close-up. His topaz eyes softened momentarily, and he brought his right hand up to gingerly touch the right margin of the last photograph. Finally, he tore his glance away from the picture and looked through me.
I sputtered a lame defense.
"I haven't shown anyone. Besides, why are you getting all crazy about this now? You knew I had these. You saw them in my room the night you broke in."
"Broke in?"
"Yes. Last week." He just stared dumbly at me. I was infuriated that he was pretending to not know what I was talking about instead of at least trying to explain his actions. "Oh, come on! Are you going to tell me that you let yourself into so many girls' rooms in the middle of the night that you can't remember being in my room and digging through my folder of Spanish Flu research? I know you were there. You left the window open."
His stony exterior cracked; he looked at me for a moment longer. Then he blinked once, and his voice turned soft.
"I wasn't in your room. I would never disrespect you like that." He held the rumpled papers out to me, his eyes unseeing again. I shivered involuntarily. Somehow, his not being there was more disturbing than if he'd admitted to it. He stepped forward, and my heart raced. And then he was past me, headed back toward school.
"We need to go talk with Carlisle."
. . . . .
A few minutes later, I was sitting in the front seat of his shiny silver Volvo with the misty Washington scenery flying by. I was too scared to look at the speedometer or pay attention to where we were going. Being in such close proximity to Edward—even under these less-than-ideal circumstances—was making my heart beat faster and my head a little dizzy. I blamed it on my nervousness, but I had a feeling it had more to do with the boy next to me and the delicious way he smelled than the precariousness of the situation I was in.
Instead, I tried to take deep breaths and focused on the photo printout in front of me. A wider shot than the one I normally fixated on, it showed Edward's early-1900s twin being tended to by the mysterious Dr. Cullen lookalike, a patient on either side of the boy in the bed. One, a grade-school aged girl who looked like she was already dead. The other, on the far right side, a woman who looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s. Even though the photo was black and white, her hair seemed to be the same shade as that of the boy. Her head was tipped slightly toward him and the doctor, her eyes half-closed but still appearing to be focused on the young man in the bed. I looked at Edward and wondered if she was the cause of his pause in the woods.
Just then, the Volvo veered off the road. I grabbed for the dashboard to steady myself for the inevitable impact before I realized we were flying down a narrow road flanked tightly by trees on both sides.
A massive wood and glass house loomed out of the forest in front of us, and Edward slammed the car to a halt. He was out of the car and around to my door before I had registered that we'd stopped. It took me longer to unlatch my seatbelt than it had for Edward to park and get out, it seemed.
I took a deep breath of pine-scented air and followed him up the steps to the behemoth of a home.
I followed his lead, and didn't remove my shoes or jacket before we climbed the giant wooden staircase. I felt shabby in comparison as I marveled at the sparse, modern décor. I tried to keep up with Edward, nervous about what was about to happen but still in awe at my surroundings. Who lived like this?
At the top of the stairs, Edward spoke for the first time since our discussion in the woods.
"Carlisle, I have something urgent to discuss with you." I looked around, and saw nothing. Then a door opened at the end of the hallway.
"I'm in here, Son." The doctor stepped out to greet us. "I see we have company. Miss Swan, nice to see you again."
I managed a tight smile. I supposed it was nice to see him when I wasn't bleeding, for a change, but I wasn't sure these circumstances were really any more pleasant. I vaguely wondered if throwing myself backward down the stairs would cause enough of a distraction that Edward would forget all about the photographs and my accusations.
Instead, I followed Edward into the dark office.
"Bella, why don't you show Carlisle what you have there."
I couldn't disobey his silky voice, so I took a deep breath and handed the wrinkled photograph printouts to the kind-eyed doctor. One glance and his expression instantly changed. He peered over at me, then down again at the photographs.
"Where did you get these, Miss Swan?"
My heart thudded in my chest, and for a split second, I couldn't remember how to speak.
Edward cleared his throat.
"I… um. I found them in a book. Well—the first one. The first one was in a book. I got the others from an online database of photos from the National World War I Museum." I swallowed, but my mouth and throat felt parched. "I did an image search until I found some that looked like the first one. And that lead me to a whole gallery by this photographer."
I paused. Then couldn't help but add, "He took these in 1918."
Dr. Cullen nodded. "Yes, he did. Mr. McCarthy. He spent the day at the hospital before he moved on. I hadn't realized he'd actually printed these before he died."
I stared at Dr. Cullen in disbelief. Was he admitting to having been there? Or was the photographer's work that well-known? The doctor looked up at me and smiled a tight-lipped smile.
"How is it that you stumbled upon these? Or, should I say, upon the first one of these?"
I glanced at Edward, who was staring at the papers in Dr. Cullen's hand. I gulped.
"I was assigned the Spanish Influenza for an American History paper." The doctor stared silently. I felt forced to continue. "I was doing some research in a book at the library and saw the first photo. I—I thought the young man in the photo was, well, attractive. And I wanted to find out more about him. So I did an image search to see if there were more photos of him, or to see if I could find out what happened to him."
Edward's eyes suddenly snapped to mine. I blushed furiously. "I went to the history museum in Seattle to see their Spanish Influenza display, and I talked to the historian there. He helped me put together a list of names of young men who died that week at that same hospital where the photos were taken. I—I just wanted to know his name."
I dug through my folder until I came to the list. I held it out. Dr. Cullen and Edward both stared across the room at the list, neither of them coming forward to take it. At the same time, both of them spoke as if they had been reading the list in unison.
"Edward A. Masen."
"Yes. Edward A. Masen." I stared at Edward, unexpectedly feeling bold. "And then the next day, Edward Anthony Masen Cullen shows up in my biology class. So Edward tells me I have some explaining to do, but I don't think I'm the one with the answers here."
Dr. Cullen smiled in spite of the tension. He looked over at Edward.
"She is a spitfire, just like you said."
"And aren't we lucky for that?" Edward snorted and turned his back to us to look out the window. "All joking aside Carlisle, there's more. She hasn't told you everything yet."
"Edward, I—" I looked from Edward to Carlisle, unsure of what I hadn't told him. Other than the fact that I just might be in love with him—both the boy in the photo and the one standing in front of me—but that didn't exactly seem like something I would be required to admit in public.
"Your room, Bella," he prompted. "Your folder."
"Oh, yeah. Well, last week someone was in my room."
"In your room?" Carlisle looked confused, and Edward turned to face him.
"Of course it wasn't me, Carlisle," he stated matter-of-factly, as if he were answering a question I hadn't heard. "That's what's so worrying."
The doctor addressed me then. "Why do you think someone was in your room, Bella?"
I shrugged. "Well, I woke up in the middle of the night and I was cold. My window was open, but I knew I hadn't left it open. I got up and saw that my folder—the one with these photos—was open on my desk, and the breeze blew the papers all over the floor. But I'd put it under my history book before I'd gone to sleep. I'm sure of it."
Carlisle nodded slowly, encouraging me to go on. I didn't know what else to say.
"And why did you think it was Edward, dear?"
"Well, at first, I thought I could… could smell him. You know, his cologne or something." I blushed furiously. First, I have to admit that I think he's attractive. And now I'd basically copped to thinking he smelled good. Yeah, I pretty much wanted to crawl in a hole. "Then I decided that maybe it was a dream. But then Jake came over, and he was acting all weird. He accused me of having one of you in my room, so I admitted that I thought Edward had been there."
"Jake?" Edward chimed in now, defensive and (unless I was selfishly imagining it) slightly jealous-sounding—or was he appalled? "Jake who?"
"Jacob Black. He's my best friend. He lives over on the reservation, but he and his dad come over all the time."
Carlisle put up his hand suddenly without looking at Edward, as if to preemptively quiet him. Both of them just stared at me.
"We're just friends," I added, hoping he wouldn't get the wrong idea. Just in case.
Their continued stillness unnerved me, and I pushed ahead. "And then there was the next day, when your brother tried to hit me in the parking lot to keep me from doing my presentation and showing the photos."
I was suddenly upset again, remembering the odd string of occurrences that had been happening ever since the Cullens had appeared. "How else would you have known about these pictures and my presentation if you hadn't been sneaking around my room, looking at my stuff?"
Carlisle turned soundlessly to Edward, who looked grey. He sighed, then spoke.
"Alice. And no, that wasn't our intention."
I watched the two of them curiously until Edward broke the silence, yet again answering a question Dr. Cullen hadn't even asked.
"But she would have seen that."
"That is indeed concerning." Carlisle shook his head. "I don't like any of the possible meanings of this. Or the potential ramifications."
The two locked eyes for a brief moment before Edward turned to face the window, his dark shadow surrounded by sunbursts of light spilling in from outside. Despite the tense atmosphere, I was entirely taken in by how beautiful he was, even when I couldn't see his face.
His shoulders raised and lowered once in a heaving sigh before he spoke.
"What do we do now, Carlisle?"
"Well, if Alice knew one portion of this, perhaps there is more to see." He turned to me then, and I faltered, wondering what he was talking about and hoping he wasn't expecting me to provide any answers. I'd had no idea what was going on from the moment Edward Cullen showed up in my biology class, and this little chat with his father had left me even more confused.
"Bella, will you please have a seat for a moment?" Dr. Cullen broke my reverie. "We have to have a short family meeting."
I nodded, sure I couldn't reject his offer. The seriousness on their faces made me more nervous than I'd already been, and I sank into the chair in front of the massive desk.
When I turned around, both men were gone.
. . . . .
