Stephenie Meyer owns everything, and I am enchanted by her work.

Chapter Fourteen: Questions and Answers

Rose and Mike were waiting for me by the remnants of the big fire. The unmistakable stink of vomit was floating around the party site, and a few couples were still wrapped around each other in a drunken stupor.

"There you are, Bella!" Mike all but cried on seeing me.

"Yup. Here I am." I was still a little out of breath from watching the live sex show. And I had a bad case of pins and needles in my foot. "Why so glad to see me?"

"I was thinking we should just go ahead and leave. It will be dark soon, and Jazz is clearly not showing up. Most people have left already." He looked at Rose as though wanting her to back up his statement somehow, so she nodded.

"But Jake took my keys," I protested.

Rose looked at me with her head tilted toward her right shoulder. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I left my truck at Mike's store," I explained. "How will I get home? How will you get home?" I was beginning to feel a little panicked. Where had Jake gone with my keys? Why did I hand them over anyway? That was so stupid of me. A part of me had known that he was just asking for my keys to keep me from driving drunk, and of course Jake didn't know that my truck was miles away back on the edge of town.

Mike stood up and grabbed my shoulder in what I assume was meant to be a comforting gesture. He said, "I'll take you and Rose both home. I don't mind. And I wasn't expecting the party to end quite this early anyway, so my folks aren't expecting me for a while." I nodded and managed a little smile for him.

Funny but a few hours ago I wouldn't have been able to smile. I was still giddy from what I had just seen. Been a part of. Rob had included me somehow. I shivered. It was wrong and weird. And he was really hot.

I closed my eyes in Mike's car, unwilling to get another look at the heinous roadside memorial. He stopped in front of my house, and the sight of my driveway sitting there without my truck in it brought me back to practicality. "Mike, do you think you could take me to get my truck tomorrow? If I get my keys back…"

"I have to work tomorrow, Bella. But if you still need me after eight I can do it." He was leaning out of his window to answer me, and the look on his face was hesitant at best.

"Oh." I was disappointed. "I'll figure something out. Thanks so much for the ride." I leaned down to wave at Rose. "Call me when you get home, Rose." She smiled and waved at me with her fingertips. She looked tired. And worried. A pang of guilt struck me then. I had completely forgotten about Jazz in the past hour.

I turned and walked into my house. I wasn't surprised when Charlie's cruiser wasn't parked out front, but now it registered with me that he was probably out looking for Jazz like everyone else. No matter that it was too early to make it a real Missing Persons case; Charlie would be worried. Too many weird things had been going on.

In my room, I stripped off my layers. The tee-shirt at the bottom of my armor against the cold was soaked through with sweat. I hopped into a warm shower to get rid of the grime and cold and smoky smell. I couldn't help but recall the last time I'd been covered in the scent of bonfire. I remembered the way William's nose had wrinkled at me because of the pungent odor. I sighed as I lathered my hair, washing it slowly, taking time to think and luxuriate in the bubbles and steam.

It was too early to climb into bed once my flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers were in place. I tied my wet hair off my neck and turned on my computer before padding down the stairs in search of something to eat. The campfire food seemed like years ago. I wondered if Charlie would be hungry when he got home. Chances were he would be, so I peered into the fridge. As always, there was plenty of fish on hand, and we had a package of tortillas that I had been planning to use for enchiladas. But I didn't have the energy for that, so I decided that fish taco would be simple but hearty. I chopped a few onions and peppers and grated some cheese while the fillets soaked in a little lime juice. This process was a second nature to me, so I was able to think freely while my hands worked.

I let my mind wander. Shit! The creepy guy at the cemetery! Why hadn't I said anything about him? What if Jazz hadn't got into his car right after me & left. What if he had gone back to tell the creep off or something.

Would Jazz do that?

Who on earth can really predict what a teenage guy would do? They make no sense even on a good day.

Once all the kitchen prep was done, I washed my hands and went upstairs. Cooking would only take a few minutes, and I decided to wait for Charlie. My computer was buzzing rather pathetically, and I wondered how long it would last. I was in the middle of checking my e-mail when I heard thunder crash outside.

I hadn't noticed any lightening, but the thunder was so loud that it had made me jump. I went to the window to check out the sky. I was surprised that it wasn't raining. It was difficult to determine how cloudy it was because it was already so dark outside. The blackness was thick and deep. And that's how I noticed the streak of white that darted across the tree line at the edge of the wood.

Alice.

Impossible.

Another streak, too fast to make out, but definitely a streak. A light, glowy blur.

My heart began to pound so hard that I could feel it moving my ribs. I gasped, unaware that I had held my breath, and suddenly I was hyperventilating, I leaned my palms against the cold glass of the window. Another crash of thunder made me jump back. My knees were crumpling, and I slid to the floor. It had looked so real. A ghost.

Alice's ghost.

The thing was, I didn't believe in ghosts, and I was having a hard time with the instant replay that was going through my mind. It had definitely looked like Alice. Alice running. And then a blur chasing after her. That's what it seemed like to me. I was losing my mind.

I jumped out of my skin again when I heard the front door open. I placed a hand over my chest, willing my heart to take it easy on me. I heard the unmistakable tread of Charlie's heavy boots across the entry way floor. I took a deep breath and descended to the kitchen.

"Hey dad," I greeted him when I entered the kitchen where he was uncapping a beer bottle and peering at the various small plates of raw food I had spread over the counter. Charlie sighed and looked at me. I was too surprised to move when he pulled me into a hug. The smell of beer on his breath made me feel a little sick after the day I'd had, but I just sucked it up and hugged him back.

"Bells, I love you. You know that, right?"

This was unprecedented. Charlie wasn't one to vocalize his feelings. I was taken aback, but I tried to play it cool. "Of course, dad. You know I love you too, right?"

"Yeah honey." He let me go slowly. "Sorry, but things are just so damned weird right now."

I waited for him to elaborate. Asking questions never did any good with Charlie, but this mood of his was new. I thought he might actually open up to me if I managed to feign disinterest.

He sat heavily at the table with his beer while I heated some oil in the cast iron skillet. I watched him out of the corner of his eye as he fumbled with something in a plastic bag that he had withdrawn from his pocket.

Over the sizzle of the food, I heard electronic beeping noises. I surreptitiously watched Charlie pushing buttons n a phone. "Did you get a new phone, dad?" I was surprised because he generally professed to hate technology and chose to rely on his ever-present police radio for quick communication. He knew I could always get hold of him that way if I needed to, so he never carried a phone.

He didn't answer me, intent on pushing the buttons. "Hmm. Bells, can I use your computer?"

I was surprised. If there was anything Charlie stayed away from more than cell phones, it was computers. "Uhh, sure. I warmed it up. My e-mail is open. Could you just close it before you open a browser?"

"What's a browser?'

"Dad, the tacos are ready. If you want, we can eat and then I'll help you with the computer." I didn't want the food to scorch or get cold waiting for my dad to take a leap into the 21st century. The mention of food was all it took to draw Charlie's attention away from his toy. I gasped when I set his plate on the table next to the flat black phone. "Is that Jazz's phone!?" The screen had a photo up on it. The photo he had taken this morning at Alice's grave.

Charlie grabbed the phone and shoved it into his pocket without answering me. It was too late for him to cover up the truth, so he just ignored it instead. "Bells, this smells great," he enthused as he picked up a fork.

I sighed, reminding myself that he is not easily budged. After the meal, I'd get to learn more, if only because of his technological ineptitude. I'd at least learn about the epitaph that Jazz had intended to look up. I shuddered. If Charlie had Jazz's phone, then all signs pointed to bad news. I couldn't think about it. I also couldn't taste the spicy food that I chewed and swallowed mechanically. I willed myself to get through this meal, to get through this day. Between the cemetery, the creepy guy, the stress over Jazz not showing for the party, the beer, the sex, the ghosts, and now the phone, I was on the verge of disintegrating. I had to make it through the meal and then I had to help Charlie. I'd have to keep it together in order to get answers.

"Who put this monument up?" I asked casually as I typed "Eadem mutata resurgo" into the search box.

"Dr. Cullen, I believe." I had suspected as much.

Eadem mutata resurgo: "Though changed I shall arise the same"

"Well that's not much help," Charlie mused.

I looked at him, His eyes looked tired. He looked older than I had ever noticed before. "What were you expecting, dad?"

He sighed. "I don't know. He took this picture for a reason, right? I guess I was just hoping for SOMETHING."

"He did take the picture for a reason. He wanted to do what we just did. He wanted to look the phrase up & see what it means."

"We can't know that was his intention, Bells. I know it's tempting to try to attribute a reason to the clues we find in an investigation, but that's also the quickest way to mislead yourself."

"No," I interrupted. "I mean that this was exactly his intention, dad. We don't carry a little notepad around everywhere like you do, so this was his way of making sure he didn't forget the epitaph."

"Bella? Were you at the cemetery with Jasper Whitlock?" His face had gone white.

"Oh," I started fumbling. He was already reacting badly, and I didn't want to give him anything more to be upset over. But I knew he needed all the facts, so I told him. I told him about the old man with the yellow flowers and my impetuous decision to stop at the cemetery. I told him about the creepy guy and about Jazz startling me. I told him everything I could remember about our conversation, right up to Jazz walking me to my truck."

He listened silently. At some point during my recount of the events, his little notepad appeared in his hands, and he was jotting down highlights from my story. When I was done, he asked me to recall all the details I could about the creepy guy. When I mentioned the sniffing of the headstone, Charlie froze and stared at me. "He did what?"

"He sn-sniffed it?"

"What makes you think he was sniffing it?"

"Because that's what he was doing. He was leaning in and clearly inhaling with his eyes half closed." I shuddered at the recollection.

We were silent for several moments as Charlie flipped back through the pages of his small book. He stood and walked heavily down the stairs, deep in thought. I nearly crashed into him when he reached the ground floor and abruptly turned toward me. "Bells, what was Jasper's relationship to Alice Brandon?"

My face turned red. I hmmmmed and bit my lip. This was a toughie. "Well, she was crazy about him, but he never knew until I recently told him." I figured the truth was best.

"How did he react to that news?"

"Well, this morning he- he was really missing her. Regretting lost possibilities."

"I see." I didn't see at all, but he started walking toward the kitchen again, so I followed. He took the phone and dialed while I looked on mutely. "Hey Mark. Is that detective still hanging around the station?" Charlie's all-business voice was gruff, commanding respect. "I've got some new info that might link the Whitlock kid's disappearance to the break-in-" Charlie was cut off mid sentence as he listened intently. He shot me a wary glance, but I didn't look away. I still needed my answers. "FBI?" Charlie's face changed as he said those three letters in the form of a question. "Shit. Well, I don't really want to leave my daughter here alone right now, so I guess so." I was straining to hear the other end of this conversation, though my efforts were futile. Charlie hardly ever cursed, so if the letters F.B.I. hadn't clued me in to something big, his use of the word shit would have done it.

He hung up the phone with nothing more than a grunt and stared silently at the table. I was still walking the tightrope of his taciturnity. I didn't want to throw questions at him for fear he'd just shut me out. I was so nervous by this time, though, that I couldn't sit still. I rose and turned the water on to start the dishes.

Charlie stayed quietly seated at the empty table. Occasionally I'd hear his pen scrawl in his little notepad. I had just scrubbed the last of the sticky fish out of the iron skillet when a knock at the door caused us both to start. Charlie rose to answer it, and I followed him, Wiping my wet hands on one of the striped red kitchen towels.

Deputy Mark walked in with a man in a blue trousers and a grey jacket. Charlie shook the man's hand and nodded a greeting at Mark. The man whom I assumed was the county's investigator peered over Charlie's shoulder at me. Charlie turned, "Bells, why don't you go on and work on your homework."

"No, dad. These are my friends you're talking about, and I deserve to know." I had never spoken so boldly to my father in front of strangers before. And these strangers were his colleagues. I cringed waiting for Charlie's wrath at my disrespect.

"D'you mind?" Charlie asked the stranger, much to my surprise. The man shrugged and lowered himself heavily onto the sofa. Charlie followed suit while Mark settled in the easy chair and I leaned against the wall, twisting the damp dishtowel in my hands and trying to remain unobtrusive so they would be encouraged to speak freely.

"So," the investigator began, "we haven't turned up any prints at all in the investigation."

Charlie made a face of surprise, "None?"

"None other than those belonging to the Alice Brandon, your daughter, "he nodded toward me, "and Rosalie Hale. No unidentified prints at all. Which is weird because we don't have prints on file for the scientist, so he should have come up a million times on the unidentified list. Also, our team didn't turn up any visitors. No unidentified partials. Nothing. But intel shows that Dr. Cullen was there a few days before the house was abandoned. He should have come up somewhere. And whoever broke in- well latex gloves, maybe."

Charlie sighed. "Dead end."

"Well, we casted a couple of stray shoe prints outside."

"Any luck with those yet?"

"Male and female. The male could be one of our team. The ground was wet, and we weren't too careful at first. But the female has got to be something."

Charlie looked eager as he replied, "That would explain the clothes. You know, this could be a husband and wife team. He broke in and did the damage while she was rifling through the closet."

"Conjecture."

"Yeah." Charlie's eyes fell for a moment. I was reminded of how her had just cautioned me about jumping to conclusions. "How long before you get something on the cast?"

"Tomorrow morning for sure." the investigator coughed and looked over at me before turning back to Charlie. "What made you think this might be linked to your disappearance?"

"Oh," Charlie pulled the notepad out of his breast pocket again. "Well, Whitlock had a connection to the Brandon girl. The last place he was seen was outside the cemetery after visiting Brandon's grave this morning."

The detective's face crinkled as he frowned in thought. "Hmmm. Well we'll check that male print against his shoes then. If he's stalking around the dead girl, he could well be the one who broke in."

"He wasn't stalking around!" I was disgruntled at this man's attitude. "He was visiting her. He loves her."

No one spoke.

"Bella honey, why don't you-"

"No! Listen. This might be linked up, but it doesn't make sense. If it is linked up, it certainly isn't Jazz's fault. You've got to pull back a little."

Charlie just looked at me. Mark and Mr. CSI were looking at me too. I suddenly felt my face go red in self-conscious embarrassment. Who was I to try to tell these men how to do their jobs. I was stunned when Charlie encouraged me to keep speaking, "Go on, Bells. What's on your mind?"

I just gaped at him for a moment before stuttering an answer, "Well, well you know the wreck? Where were they going? What about the driver of the other car who went over the cliff?"

The detective stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. I wondered if this was a gesture of frustration, boredom, or deep thought. "You think this goes all the way back to that?"

"Well, I stuttered again, "Um, I just don't understand it. That day was really normal until William showed up at the hospital and dragged Alice away. I thought they were going home, but then I found out today that there's that awful memorial up in the Cliffside highway, and there was a car that went over the edge, but no one has ever said anything about another victim from the accident, and then there was that creepy guy-" I stopped.

Oh.

"Oh!"

Everyone was staring at me, and I leaned forward away from the wall. My face must have showed how stunned I was at the memory that had just flashed through my mind. "Oh!" I said again, and Charlie said my name.

"Dad, the creepy guy. He was there."

"What are you talking about, Bells?"

"The guy. The one I told you about who sniffed the tombstone. He was at the hospital just before William showed up. I've never seen him around town. He was dressed kind of flash. I don't think he's from here, but it has to be a connection."

My father took my hand and pulled me to the sofa. I let him guide me automatically, my brain still reeling at this new revelation. I sat and let the detective guide me through a recount of that day in the hospital while Charlie took notes. It was hard to put everything into words, but I struggled with the memory, trying to turn the faded images in my head into a picture that they could see. I then allowed myself to voice all the questions that had been rolling about in my head. Who had William been talking about? Well, surely it was Creepy Guy. Why had he freaked? Clearly Creepy Guy was dangerous. Where had he been running to with Alice?

I still didn't have an answer for that one.

"No body was ever recovered, but I just don't see how that's a possibility," the detective and Charlie were speaking low while I was lost in a daze of my thoughts.

No body. The Maserati was exhumed from the sea a week after the accident that sent it plunging over the cliff. But no body was ever recovered. The driver was lost. And had never been identified.

Creepy Guy could never have survived the fall, or if he did, he couldn't be walking around the cemetery a month later without a scratch on him.

The men sat talking for a while. I have no idea how much time passed. I was too tired and lost in my own thoughts to listen with any hope of following their train of supposition and conjecture. They dismissed the idea that Creepy Guy was the driver that killed William and Alice. I, on the other hand, was completely convinced of it, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

It was late by the time I went to bed, and a deep sleep dragged me away into nightmares where I was chased by the strangely good-looking blond man in the red leather jacket.

a/n: More soon. I promise. If you're thinking about this story, please comment! Thanks.