Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. It is not being distributed for profit. Stephenie Meyer owns the copyright to the Twilight Saga. No copyright infringement is intended.

Reminder: This story is rated M and may not be appropriate for readers under the age of 18.

Chapter 14

October 2009

BPOV

For the next few weeks I took to walking through the streets of the city, the blue scarf deep in my pocket or safely around my neck like a talisman. Each day when I finished my lab work I'd drive into town, park on a side street and slowly stroll through the old city before it got dark. I didn't know why I was doing it. It was like a compulsion to find something, but I didn't quite know what. Was I looking for him? I was certainly thinking about him. He was a puzzle that I couldn't piece together. But this need to go walking felt bigger, like I was looking for something larger than him, larger than life. I knew it wasn't rational. In fact, one time I drove directly home, scoffing at the idea of continuing these aimless searches, but it was no use. I sat at home and grew more agitated by the minute until the only thing I could do was get back in my car and drive the short distance downtown, where I once again resumed my daily walk.

As I wandered, I thought about that day in the bookstore when he lifted the impossibly heavy bookcase. I also thought of my embarrassing run-in with him at the high school, and the mind-boggling concept that he was still in high school. I had come up with a half dozen reasons for why that might be, but not a single one of them rang true. But there was something that rang true over and over again as I replayed it in my thoughts — the certainty that he never wished to see me again. Of course he wouldn't. But god help me, I wanted to see him again . . .

I couldn't shake my curiosity about why he looked exactly as he had six years ago. The idea kept coming into my head that he was . . . "other." He wasn't like me, he wasn't quite . . . human?

I sighed, impatient with my own crazy notions. If I didn't start getting my thoughts under control, I was going to find myself in a white institutional building behind tall gates.

I hated feeling this clueless, this helpless, this out-on-a-limb with no answers and, seemingly, no way to find any. I felt like I was living out a destiny created by another, and I had been flung into the middle of it to play my part without a script in hand, with nothing but improvisation to guide my way. All the world's a stage.

I often thought about his beautiful face. Was it his golden eyes and his pale skin that made him look so . . . different? And . . . hmm . . . Didn't the bookshop owner — his mother — look like that too? Why had she been curious about where I came from? Could she have remembered me from Forks? I knew I never met her, so why did she seem so insistent about it? Maybe he had talked about me to his mother, but that seemed improbable at best. Surely he never would have mentioned me. We spent a single day in the same school, a total of two hours in the same proximity and half of that time . . .

Memories of that day filled my mind. His look of fury, nostrils flaring, eyes squinting, sheer loathing radiating from him as if I was the most detestable thing on earth.

Oh no. Now it all made sense. Of course he'd remember it, too. Maybe he even mentioned it to his mother. My eyes started to fill with tears as I realized that was probably what happened. He probably told his mother this plain girl wouldn't stop staring at him. They probably had a good laugh over it.

Burning with the shame of his rejection, I felt so sad, so lonely, so unlovable. I longed for my dream lover to appear by my side, hold me in his arms and tell me I was loved, that I was worthy of love. But of course that was impossible.

For a while I just kept walking, not keeping track of where I was. But before long, my tears were so thick that I couldn't see where I was going. Finding a park bench I collapsed onto it, quietly crying. I cried for the love I wanted, for the man I wanted to love me, for my dream lover to be real. I cried for what could have been, and for my certain knowledge that it never would be.

I stayed on the bench until my tears started to subside, and I knew I should collect myself and get home before it got any later. I picked up the empty bottle of Snapple that I'd been drinking and stood up to leave . . .

Wait a moment.

Where was I?

I turned around in a slow 360. The familiar buildings of downtown were gone, replaced by old, peeling, three-story houses with lines of grey laundry hanging from the ramshackle balconies. The wind had picked up, blowing a few sheets of old newspapers across the road. A mangy old dog trotted down the middle of the empty street, glancing my way and then continuing on to wherever it was going. The last streams of sunlight had turned the sky to an inky shade of violet. There were no familiar landmarks to give me a clue of how to get out of this place.

I wrapped my arms around myself and started shivering — from cold or fear or depression I wasn't certain. Some voices called out in the distance — hard and guttural with bursts of raucous laughter erupting between their banter. I now had a choice — head towards the sound of those voices hoping to get directions back to the downtown area, or move away from whoever they might be.

I chose the voices.

I squared my shoulders and strode towards them with all the self-confidence I could muster. I would simply ask for directions and then move on my way. Gathering my courage, I told myself the worst that might happen would be bad directions.

As I approached, I saw five men with a couple of six packs of beer dangling from their hands. They were laughing and pounding each other on the backs. Not exactly a group I would approach under normal circumstances. But I was lost and I didn't have any other options. So I walked towards them, looking the tallest man directly in the eye. I got ready to speak when he smirked and winked.

"Hey, beautiful, how ya doin'?" he drawled, eying me up and down as he tried to stand without swaying, six pack dangling from his index finger. "Wanna beer?"

His cohorts laughed and also held up their beers at me. Shit. This was the last, I mean the very last thing I needed to hear. I knew I wasn't beautiful, and to make matters worse, they were eying me like a piece of meat.

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks. Listen, could you tell me how to get back to Front Street?"

Another look at the men and I knew I'd made a mistake — I should have just walked away because now they were coming over, smiling and cooing at me.

"Come on," the one on my left openly leered. "Just have one beer with us and then we'll take you anywhere you want to go . . . ain't that right, fellas?" He looked over at the others, all anxiously nodding as they sauntered closer to me.

I thought about what Charlie would tell me to do in this situation. Pepper spray . . . but I didn't have any with me. I could kick them with my knees and my feet, but they'd have to get close enough. Crash the butt of my hand into one of their noses with all my strength? It was an option, but I couldn't fight them all at once. I was down to the most basic self-defense concept that Charlie had taught me, the thing he said to do if all else failed . . .

Run!

Spinning around I flew in the opposite direction, not caring where I was going, just needing to get away. I could hear their laughter and catcalls behind me as I tried to increase my speed. I came to an intersection and turned right, not looking just running when a pot hole caught my foot and I flew forward, falling onto the pavement, my head hitting the curb at the moment of impact. I felt a searing pain in my arm, and looked down to see what I had landed on. My empty Snapple bottle shattered when I fell, and a big shard of glass had slit me from wrist to elbow. My blood was everywhere.

"NOOOOOO!" I heard a roar behind me. Then there was a pounding of feet getting closer. When the approaching footsteps stopped, I knew whoever it was had arrived and was right next to me. I felt the reverberation of a low, unearthly growl rumbling through the air above me. It was so close to me, and yet in that moment I was not afraid.

"Hey man, we were only kidding with her," I heard a shaking voice say. It was one of the leering men, all traces of his previous bravado now abandoned in the confrontation with the growling figure hovering over me.

"Is she all right? Damn, maybe I should call an ambulance."

The growling continued above me, the pain in my arm continued to burn, and my head was pounding. Dizzy and disoriented, I didn't know how much longer I could hold on before I passed out. Wincing against the pain, I rolled onto my side and looked up.

Time seemed to slow down as I saw long, lean legs, narrow hips below a shirt stretched tight across a sculpted chest, and pale skin peeking out from the collar. I knew beyond a doubt the identity of the person I was seeing. It was him, the boy from Forks, the one who lifted the bookcase, the one who was still in high school. The one whose mystery had me meandering through the streets every evening.

Seeing him closely for the first time, I noticed that he didn't really look like a boy when he was outside of a high school. He had chiseled features and a hard set to his jaw. He could pass as a high school student, but he also looked like he could be around my age.

I looked into his golden eyes and saw what looked like pain, despair and regret in his gaze. And . . . was that also tenderness and love? His wild bronze hair fluttered in the breeze, brushing against his forehead. In that moment, I had only one thought: This was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life.

I felt another wave of pain and tore my eyes away from him and to look down at my injured arm. Blood was running out of the gash, and the smell of copper and iron and salt was permeating the air. But beneath that, I caught the distinctive sun and honey scent of this man — this man standing in front of me, hovering over me, protecting me. Looking back up at him, I once again locked my eyes with his, and tried to thank him with nothing but my silence. My peripheral vision was fading away — but as long as I could see him I knew I was still alive.

He knelt down, pain evident in his face as if my wound was his own. A shaking hand reached out towards me, long smooth fingers caressed my cheek as his eyes grew even softer, glinting in the light of the street lamp. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw his chest shake with a sob.

He turned his face away from me for a moment and drew in a breath, almost like a swimmer coming up for air. Turning back to me he said in a strained voice, "You'll be all right, I promise you. I'll get you to safety." And then he said something so softly I wasn't sure I had heard it right. It sounded like, "My beloved," but I couldn't be positive.

I kept looking into his eyes even though I knew my lids were drooping. I was starting to feel cold and numb. With the last of my strength, I tried to pull myself up closer to him and whispered, "Please . . . please just tell me your name."

And as my vision faded and my world descended into blackness, I heard his whispered answer.

"Edward. My name is Edward."

* * *

I was in a strange bed, and there was the sound of rhythmic beeping and an antiseptic smell in the air. None of that mattered, though, because the scent of sun and honey was also there. I opened my eyes to see my dream lover sitting on the bed and holding my hand.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, gently kissing my knuckles. "I wish I could be here with you, really be here with you." I wanted to reach out and hold him to me but I couldn't lift one of my arms.

"I wish you were here with me, too, my love. It's all I ever want."

I could feel a yearning radiating from his body, from his very soul "My beloved, I can't, there's too much blood . . . I couldn't take it a moment longer. . ."

Before I could process what he just called me and why his whisper suddenly sounded so familiar, my eyes closed again and I fell back into the darkness of sleep.

EPOV

Isabella's accident had rocked me to the core. Once I was back in the safety of my car my mind spun with scenario after scenario, each ending in her death before I got her to medical help. And then more scenarios of losing control and finishing what the horrible wound had not. The blood that poured from her arm called to me like the strongest siren. It was torture to resist. I could almost taste it, imagined the feel of it, the sweetest nectar from her veins sliding down my throat and finally quenching the burn I lived with day in and day out . . .

No no no, I would not even THINK it!

I had been following her today, and yet I was powerless to prevent her grievous injury. A damnable bit of sunlight held me captive as I watched her veer off her usual route. I cursed inwardly again, knowing that if I was human this would never have happened. If I was human I'd be walking by her side and never let her roam where there might be any danger . . .

Snarling, I thought of the reason she was running. Those leering bastards. I did not care that they ultimately helped by calling 911. This was MY Isabella, and their thoughts about her were vile. I raised my hands to my face and smelled her blood. Although the venom pooled in my mouth, I knew that was as far as it would go. As difficult as it had been, I managed to control myself today. My craving for her blood had not won out over my desire for her, my love for her, and my overwhelming need to protect her. I had been able to resist the call of her blood, even as it flowed freely before me.

In spite of the horror of the day I couldn't help but smile a bit. After all these years, she was finally within reach. I had held her in my arms, if only for a moment. Isabella was really, truly, in my arms as I cradled her tiny body, carrying her to the ambulance when it pulled up to the scene. The feel of her was electric, and her scent was paradise as it swirled around me, not just because of the open wound, but because of her. I felt like I was walking through a cloud of heavenly bliss with an angel in my arms. Nothing in my imagination could compare to this. What would it be like to truly have her in my arms, in my bed, pressing against those tender lips . . .

I shook myself and stopped that train of thought. Not now. My love was in the back of an ambulance, and to even think this way reminded me how truly vile a creature I am. Starting the car, I shifted it into gear and drove towards the hospital.

* * *

It helps to be the "son" of the chief surgeon. I was able to move through the hospital virtually undisturbed, keeping myself hidden in dark corners as I listened to the thoughts of those caring for her. Carlisle was here tonight, and with a quiet word from me he knew it wasn't the time to question anything. He simply nodded and went to the ER to tend to her himself. She would need extensive stitches, and I knew Carlisle's talents would result in minimal scarring. Plasma had been started in the ambulance, but I suspected she'd need whole blood as well. I was not worried by the idea of her receiving a transfusion because, in addition to all of today's blood donor screening techniques, Carlisle would be able to detect if there was anything tainting the blood before it was given to her.

So I had asked Carlisle to attend to her personally even though I knew I'd have to answer his questions afterwards. It was worth it. I didn't even stop to think about anything but ensuring that she got the very best treatment.

I sighed and leaned against the wall in relief as I heard the diagnosis come in. A mild concussion, general bruises and abrasions, and 32 stitches to close the wound on her arm. Although the loss of blood was severe, it was stopped before there was any permanent damage to her brain and other internal organs. Two units of blood later and she was sleeping peacefully in a private room arranged by Carlisle. And now I stood outside the door to that room, listening carefully to her heartbeat and respiration.

I had to see her. Once I was certain she was deeply asleep I quietly stepped into the room, slipped into a dark corner behind the door, and gazed at her sleeping face.

Her lovely hair was matted, and she looked far paler than I remembered. The monitors were softly beeping and she was ashen in the green glow of the display. But she was alive, and she was as beautiful as ever to me. And I was in the same room with her . . .

It was past 3:00 a.m., and the floor nurses were busy writing up the reports for their shifts. I knew I had at least an hour before anyone came in to check her vitals, and I would hear the thoughts of anyone who might approach her room.

I couldn't take my eyes off my sweet Isabella. Here she was, just 15 feet in front of me. I could feel the terror welling up inside me again when I thought of how close to death she had come.

I knew I should leave, but I couldn't. Perhaps just a moment to calm myself . . . to just close my eyes and see her whole and uninjured in my mind. It might give me the strength to deal with this reality. I just needed a moment to think of her in my imagination . . .

She was lying there sleeping, on her side, looking as peaceful as ever. I sighed contentedly; this was just what I needed — to see her as she always looked in my mind, as she looked for years. A soft smile graced the corners of her lips and this time, for the first time, I had no intention of waking her. I simply wanted to spend a few moments gazing at my goddess.

As I watched her I had the oddest sense I wasn't alone . . . I felt like a door in the corner of my mind was cracking open, a sensation I hadn't felt in over 4 years when I felt the quiet tendrils of a pure presence with me as I hunted. For a moment I panicked, not knowing where this intrusion came from, and suddenly the room shifted. I heard a heart monitor and my angel was thrashing on the bed, moaning in pain. I tried to pull out of the fantasy that had shifted and taken a direction of its own, causing all my fears to rush back at me. And at that moment, she opened her eyes and stared at me in shock.

"Edward? Why are you in my dream?"

My eyes flew open, the fantasy shredded into a thousand filaments as I looked over at Isabella, who was looking back at me. I froze, suddenly unsure what was reality and what was fantasy. As I saw her reach for the light switch I acted on instinct.

I was out the door and gone before she moved another inch.

A/N:

Serious thanks to everyone who is reading, favoriting, and reviewing. There have been a number of questions lately along the lines of, "What about the scarf, the button, the indentation in the bed?" Answers are coming, but there's a fair bit of story to be told before we get there. Hope you'll stay with us through the telling.

Songs for Chapter 14

34. Perfect World, by Liz Phair. For Bella wishing she was "cool, tall, vulnerable and luscious."

35. Save Me, by Aimee Mann. Because Bella is a "girl in need of a tourniquet" in this chapter.

36. Strange and Beautiful, by Aqualung. For Edward who just cannot resist watching over Bella and coming to her in a dream at the hospital.

You can hear all the songs for this story by visiting the playlist on my profile or at
www . playlist . com/playlist/16715134219

Huge thanks to my co-author and friend, FantasyMother. Chapters still to come Thursday and Friday of this week.

There's a thread on the Twilighted AU forums if you care to visit.

Reviews are very much appreciated.