Once I'd come in from the suburbs, I should have taken the direct route to Western Boulevard. I could have intersected it quickly and run past its empty shops and quiet alleys to reach Royce's hiding place in mere minutes.

But I was not ready.

I made a large arc around the neighborhood, circling like an anxious cat. I let my gaze linger on the shop windows, imagining what it would be like to shop for myself in broad daylight. The windows were decorated for Christmas, but were a little sparser than I'd expected. My memories of past holidays included boxes wrapped in brightly colored papers and windows bursting with fanciful gifts, lights and sparkling glass ornaments. The boxes in these windows, however, were dressed in sober brown paper, a red or green string trying to bring some cheer to the sad little packages. There was little actual merchandise on display and what there was seemed imminently practical. All in all, it made for a depressing picture.

Still, I was in no hurry to leave the tiny shops. It wasn't even midnight yet. I didn't think Royce would go anywhere tonight. Better to steel my nerves before I had to confront him.

I tried to distract myself with a game, forcing myself to choose one item from each store's pitiful displays, taking my time to choose the perfect gifts amidst the limited choices.

A snow shovel at the hardware store – that was just the sort of practical thing that Carlisle would appreciate. Penny candies at the general merchandise store – those would have to be for my little brother, I thought. Some silk flowers out of the florist's window for Esme, to brighten the house until her garden bloomed again. I giggled out loud, thinking of what Edward would say if I bought him the silly book on courtship featured in the window of the used bookstore.

I dragged my hand behind me, touching the glass with my cold fingertips, imagining what it would be like to have a real Christmas.

And then, I looked up into the window of the thrift shop.

It was stuffed into the window beside a scratched-up dining room set and a treadle sewing machine. The cheap lace of the wedding gown cascaded down from the headless mannequin bride, whose arms held forth a bouquet of dusty paper roses that had faded in the weak Rochester sun. A mismatched veil was carefully spread out over the back of a high chair, waiting for the bride to crown herself and walk down the aisle.

A fake bride-to-be. Just like I had been.

I swallowed my bitterness as I looked at the virginal gown, but then, tucked neatly away behind the mannequin, I spied a battered pram.

Rage coursed through me and I slammed a fist through the glass. The crash echoed in the night, but no one heard. Or, perhaps, no one cared.

I waited until my shallow breaths had returned to normal. Then, I picked through the broken glass and stepped inside the window. It took just a moment to slip out of my own clothes and into the gown. There was no mirror, so I stared into the remaining cracked glass of the window, placing the veil in my hair at a jaunty angle.

The light from the street lamp just kissed the glass, turning it into a makeshift mirror. My warped face reflected back at me, all broken planes of snow white skin, burning eyes and blood red lips.

I reached out to touch my reflection. It was cold.

All of this, Royce took from you. How can you hesitate?

Once the thought had sprung into my mind, I knew what I must do. I jumped through the gaping hole in the window into the street, the long train trailing behind me, and ran for his hiding place.

xoxoxo

The bank was shuttered, just like Edward had said. It looked completely abandoned; it was hard to imagine it as a bustling nightclub or a place of commerce.

I crouched in the alley across the street, looking for a way in. The front door was boarded up. It might be too risky, too direct. The guards might be right behind it.

Then again, it wouldn't matter. They wouldn't be able to stop me.

As I sat there considering my options, a stiff wind rose out of the night. Musky sweat filled the air.

Royce.

My mind reeled as I took in his scent. It was the same as that night in the alley. I could smell his fear. I could smell his blood, choked with alcohol.

It caught me unprepared. I fell to my knees, gagging. In my mind, I was lying in the snow again and he was there, on top of me, pulling my hair. Buttons dug into my back with every thrust.

"No!"

The word echoed in the night, bouncing off the alley walls while I struggled to shake the image from my brain.

Slowly, I came under control. Every muscle in my body was tense. I took a deep breath, then another, trying old human habits to relax my legs, my arms, and my neck. When I looked down, I saw my hands were still clutching the paper roses from the thrift shop.

I threw them in the dirty snow and stepped on them as I crossed the street.

It was time.

With the wave of anxiety behind me, I could clearly make out the scents of two others cutting in and out of Royce's odor: the guards, I presumed. Their blood was sweet and strong. It would be safer to avoid temptation, I thought, so I stopped breathing.

I mounted the steps to the bank and stood in front of the boarded up door. With one kick, I smashed it in. Ignoring the shouts inside, I picked up my train and stepped through the splintered wood into the bank.

One man was struggling to get up from his chair; apparently, he'd fallen asleep on his watch. The other was staring, wild-eyed, his gun forgotten in his holster.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I said smoothly, smoothing my gown. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Before they could answer, I was upon the first, breaking his neck with a single twist.

The other guard screamed as he watched his friend's body drop to the floor.

"Shhh," I said, putting a finger over my lips. "You wouldn't want to wake Royce."

The man's eyes bugged out. He scrambled to the teller's counter, but there was no way out – they'd locked the gate to the steel cage to protect the vault.

I walked closer, enjoying his panic.

"How about a dance with the bride?" I tilted my head coquettishly.

His eyes darted about, looking for an escape. His tensing muscles gave away his every move. When he tried to run, I was there, wrapping an arm around him.

"A waltz then?"

He struggled, but there was no escaping my steely grip. He was like a rag doll in my hands as I whirled and twirled across the marble floor. Never stopping, I leaned in to whisper.

"Thank you for the dance."

He shook in my hands, unable to answer.

On the next spin, I hurled his body against the counter, breaking his back.

He bounced off and landed in a heap. I watched him sputter and cough as the breath slipped out of him. Finally, with terrific effort, he heaved one last gasp and died. I sat for another minute, making sure he was dead. Then, daintily, I stepped over him to the cage. Reaching up, I peeled the steel open and walked through.

All the accoutrements of the bank had been replaced, turning the teller's counter into a lavish bar. Bottles of liquor still sat, waiting for the next poker game or dance. Cheap glassware, dusty from unuse, was lined up in neat rows. The speakeasy must have gone under after Prohibition ended. Trust Royce to have figured out a way to hide out in a fully stocked bar , I thought.

The vault door stood, stark and shiny, behind the counter. I knocked on it once. It gave a muffled thud. It was solid steel, I bet. I pushed the funny handle that looked like a ship's wheel. Nothing.

The combination lock mocked me. I knew Royce was behind that door.

Gripping the wheel, I pulled on the door. At first there was nothing, but slowly the steel began to pucker and warp. A quiet whine filled the air, turning into a shriek of twisting metal as the door collapsed from the strain.

I threw the hunk of steel to the side, ignoring the crash of marble as it skidded across the floor, and stepped into the vault.

The room was dark and windowless, but I could see it was small and lavishly decorated – probably the private gambling room for the speakeasy. Royce couldn't hide for long, and there was no way out but through me.

I let myself breathe and Royce's unmistakable scent assaulted me.

I sucked it in, sighing with satisfaction to know I was so close to what I wanted, even as I choked on the smell.

I stepped to the center of the room. There, in the corner, stood Royce, brandishing a broken table leg. A thrill of excitement ran through me as a mix of emotions – shock, confusion, fear – ran across his face.

"You," he said, a note of wonder in his voice as his eyes swept over me.

We stood in silence, facing off across the narrow confines of the room. Finally, I spoke. "I have waited for over a year, Royce," I said, letting an amused smile play across my face. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

He gripped and regripped his makeshift club, looking past me while he shifted uneasily on his feet. "Where are the rest of them, Rosalie?" he demanded.

"The rest of who?" I purred, relishing his discomfort.

His face crumpled with impatience and he raised his voice. "Your father, your brothers. Whomever else it is that has been playing your little cat and mouse game. They won't get away with it."

"There's nobody else here, Royce. Only me."

He eyed me warily. "That's not possible. How did you get in?"

"I have my tricks."

He sneered and all the ugliness of his soul bubbled to the surface. "Yes, I seem to remember you being very good at your tricks ."

His innuendo broke through the thin veneer of my self control. With a roar I set upon him, twisting away the table leg and shoving him hard. I heard a thud as he hit the vault wall. Regaining my poise, I straightened my gown while I watched him groaning in the corner.

In all my fantasies, I'd imagined this moment. I'd envisioned myself standing above him, ready to strike my final blow. I'd pictured his face twisted in fear as I delivered the words I'd carefully rehearsed.

But nothing had prepared me for this. He wasn't frightened; he was too pigheaded for that. He was angry. He struggled to his knees, grimacing from his cracked ribs, glaring at me the whole time. Steadying himself, he rose to his feet. His wild eyes gleamed in the dark as he wheeled on me, talking.

"You're not Rosalie Hale. Who are you?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"You know who I am."

"You're not Rosalie. Rosalie couldn't even carry her own shopping bags, let alone do this," he scoffed, gesturing wildly about at the damaged room. His eyes darted over me, taking in my transformed body. "You look like her, but you're different." He licked his lips, the heat of desire flushing his face. "Maybe in a good way."

I stood, frozen, as he limped toward me, his eyes dark.

"If you were the real Rosalie, you'd know your place. You'd be begging for forgiveness, begging for me to take you back."

He stopped a few feet away from me and licked his lips again.

"You'd be on your hands and knees, asking me to keep your murdering father out of jail."

"My father didn't kill anyone," I managed to say in a hoarse whisper.

He was breathing heavily and his eyes had become wild. Despite the limp, he managed to almost swagger, cocksure as he took another step closer. I recognized his look. It was the same look he'd had the night they'd raped me.

He was excited by the violence, and too drunk to be afraid.

The air was thick with his smell now and, much worse, a tiny thread of blood had begun to trickle from his nose. My nostrils flared, taking the scent of it in. I could almost taste what it would be like; underneath all that liquor, it was rich and metallic.

I was choking on my own venom and yet I couldn't move.

"No, you're not my Rosalie," he continued as he came within inches of me, the arrogance of a lifetime of privilege spurring him on. I could see the sheen of his sweat as he leaned in close, his breath a foul cloud in my face.

"Rosalie was a crybaby. She couldn't take a little fun. But you, I can tell – you like it rough, don't you?"

He clamped his hand over my jaw. I stared, still as marble, willing myself not to react. He traced a lazy thumb over my cheekbone and then pulled my hair hard, forcing me to look into his eyes.

I stared silently as a shudder of recognition – or was it confusion -- filled his eyes. Had he noticed that my flesh was cold and unyielding? My odd, golden eyes? Could he see who I really was?

He gulped, hard, shaking his head as if to chase away his momentary doubts. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and heard the soft thump of his heart beating hard.

I gulped hard, fighting back the impulse to plunge my teeth into his soft neck. Mistaking my reaction for fear, he grinned, meanly.

His hand still on my hair, he leaned in close and breathed in my ear.

"But you, you're different, aren't you? You understand, don't you?" He murmured. "A man's got to have a little release," he said, pressing himself against me. I could feel his arousal; it made me sick.

"Rosalie should have known better, traipsing around like that all by herself late at night. She brought it on herself."

He reached down with one possessive hand to grab my breast. I flinched, but he was oblivious and simply let out a low sigh of satisfaction as he hitched me up higher against his body. He was

"It was probably better that she died," he grunted, pushing against me. "I couldn't have married her after what she did. All those men…it was unseemly."

All my grief and shame and fury rushed to the surface. Roaring, I broke free, twisting his arm and throwing him across the room. He didn't have far to go, falling with a crash onto the card table, which disintegrated under his weight.

In an instant, his carefully cultivated façade of confidence and power had vanished. Naked fear shone in his eyes. Huddled on the floor, he was just a pathetic little boy, exposed for the bully he was.

I strode over to him, laughing at his pathetic shouts for help.

"There's no one to hear you, Royce. Just as there was no one to hear me that night you and your friends raped me."

He tried to scramble away but he couldn't move; his leg was bent awkwardly beneath him, broken. He began to weep.

"You left me for dead, didn't you, Royce?"

"You aren't her!" he insisted, hysteria tingeing his voice. "She was dead. You were dead," he sobbed. "You were, you are. This isn't real. It can't be."

I bent down and picked him off the floor, ignoring his shrieks of pain.

"You're right, I'm not alive. I'm not dead, either." I smiled, flashing my perfect white teeth. He shrinked away from me instinctively, kicking and wriggling to get away, his broken leg swinging uselessly. "But you will be when I am done with you."

He shuddered, finally realizing through the haze of alcohol that this was real.

"I'll do anything, Rosalie," he begged, a sheen of salty tears covering his face as he dangled in my grip. "I'll take you back – it will be like it never happened," he promised.

The rush of his words was nearly as loud in my ears as the call of the blood pulsing in his veins.

"It's too late," I said, cutting him off brusquely.

Quickly, I crushed his shoulders in my grip, the bones crumbling and collapsing in my hand. His arms, dislocated, swung loosely as I let him dangle in pain. Royce's shrieks grew louder and louder, crescendoing right before he passed out.

I dropped him to the ground and settled in to wait for him to revive. He was going to be awake for every part of what I had in store for him.

xoxoxo

I'd lost track of time. I stared blindly at Royce's wrecked body lay on the ground in front of me. His ripe odor had been replaced by the stench of death; it was almost comforting to smell it. I absentmindedly plucked at the lace of my bridal gown. I'd ripped it at some point in the evening and couldn't stop picking at the tattered edges.

"Carlisle, she's over here."

I looked up, confused. A light figure stood in the doorway. Edward.

"It's almost dawn, Rosalie."

I heard his words, but nothing registered. Nothing made sense. I'd destroyed Royce. I'd broken every bone in his body, crushing him to dust, being certain not to draw his blood to the surface. I'd done them one at a time, punishing him bone by bone, joint by joint, until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell. Each cry of pain had left me heady with excitement, like the rush of champagne to my brain.

In the end I'd paralyzed him so that all he could do was choke out his last ragged breaths, using them to beg for mercy, before I'd snapped his neck.

But the elation of final victory did not come. All I felt was numb.

I began to sob silently, cursing the fate that left me without tears.

"Shh. I know." Carlisle's voice came out of nowhere; strong arms lifted me up in the air effortlessly. "I know," he soothed, cradling me against his chest. He kissed my forehead while my silent cries wracked my body.

"Let's get her home," Edward said, and once again, I was flying through the air in Carlisle's arms; flying and wishing for death.

A/N: This is not the end, in case you are wondering...Hope you enjoyed.