A/N: I apologize for the short chapter (holidays, you know), but it's an important one. Happy New Year and welcome to part three of Morning!

Book III

Chapter 26

Carlisle IV

I sat staring at the screen for a long time.

The possibility had never once occurred to me. I'm sure it hadn't crossed Edward's mind either.

I scrolled back up to read the pertinent part again, and an odd sensation shivered down my spine, elation and horror so intermixed that no single emotion felt appropriate.

But my response was irrelevant. What mattered was how Edward felt about it, how he would react to the suspicion that second by second seemed more like a revelation to me.

I went over the circumstances in my mind again. It was possible, maybe even likely. Without the turmoil and distractions of that night, the facts might have lined up for him even then, but reading them from the dispassionate distance of decades he must have seen the explanation just as clearly as I had. Of course, it could be true.

I was walking, talking proof of that.

The answer, if answer it was, had so many implications. Given Edward's tendency to blame himself, it could be a recipe for disaster. There was only one thing that could make him look past that, one thing that came more naturally to him than his unrelenting self-judgment – his concern for Bella.

If he thought this wretched incident held the key to helping her now, nothing else would matter, and so I had to hope this was the case, hope for it even knowing it might lead to utter devastation.

Had he connected the dots beyond this discovery? Could they even be connected? In any case, I needed to get to him immediately.

I encountered no one in my hurried departure from the house. The sun was pushing its way up through gritty clouds, and the wind was still. At hunting speed, I flew through the forest to the other side of the river.

The cottage door was open when I arrived, Edward framed in the doorway. His hair looked like it had suffered a rough night, but his eyes burned directly into mine.

"Well?" he said without preamble.

I drew in a deep breath. "Yes." Just saying that single word felt like lighting a fuse, and I didn't know how long it was. "Yes, I have a feeling you're onto something."

He turned back into the house without another word. I followed, closing the door behind me. "Renesmee?"

"Still asleep," he murmured, abstracted. He stood in the middle of the room frowning at the floor, adding my opinion to the conclusion I was sure he'd already drawn.

"I swear to you," he said at last, pushing the words through grimly set lips, "I never meant for that . . . to happen. Not . . . ever."

"Don't you think I know that? Circumstances intervened. It was rotten luck – too much happening at once."

He continued to glare downward until I half expected the flagstones to smolder and liquefy at his feet. I needed him to say something – anything, so I could engage him in conversation or argument – or mortal combat. Anything would be better than internalizing the discovery to fuel either his habitual self-criticism or his explosive emotions.

I actually felt relieved when he finally said, "The fact remains, I created a monster. I created him and set him loose on the world. He was already a killer. Can you imagine how he must have used the transformation, how many people he's murdered in the last eighty years?" He'd shifted his gaze to me now. "He must have dragged himself off to endure those first days alone. Obviously, it's possible – you did it."

I couldn't disagree. "He probably holed up somewhere until he regained some measure of control and then – who knows? From what you've described – with so many people living on the streets, he'd have had no trouble feeding. Or maybe he returned to Europe for fear the police were searching for him."

"Killing people all the while. How many, Carlisle? Every one of their deaths is as much my fault as if I'd slaughtered them myself."

"I knew you'd feel that way," I said, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to meet my eyes. "But it isn't true. You inadvertently gave him immortality, but you didn't make him a monster.

"He was already that – a murderer and a con-artist, probably a psychopath. Our essential character doesn't change, Edward. I did the same to you, but even at your most out of control, you retained a certain integrity. You fought against the behavior that wasn't true to who you were."

He shrugged out of my grasp, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry you had to read that, but it seemed important to put it all in context. I hated for you to know what a mess I made of things."

"Honestly? I was expecting a lot worse."

"Oh, well, thank you for your faith in me," he said drily.

"You're welcome." I smiled, and the corner of his mouth lifted briefly. "All right. You have to give me a chance to catch up here. I'm assuming you think this is our smoking gun – an immortal with a reason to hate you."

"It has to be." He was pacing now, as if physically pursuing his racing thoughts. "There can only be one. You're going to have to take my word for that, Carlisle. My victims were always dead, because I practically killed them twice – once my way, once in a way that would deflect the authorities.

"French was the only one who could have survived, because I was interrupted before I could follow through and didn't get back to him in time. I should have considered the possibility then, but I saw that police vehicle and jumped to the conclusion that they'd found his body. Stupid," he added under his breath.

"Well, speaking of conclusion jumping," I said as gently as I could, "it's a far cry between identifying an enemy and concluding that he's the one who's done this unspeakable thing to Bella. That is where you're headed with this, isn't it?"

"I don't think it's a leap. It's the only thing that makes sense. If he simply wanted revenge for my changing him, he could have come at me any time, but he didn't. He waited until he could take away from me what he thinks I took from him."

"You mean Evelyn? But you weren't romantically involved with her."

"I'm not sure he was either, but he wanted her and her money. When her father found out what he was, he knew he wasn't going to succeed through marriage, so he tried murder instead."

"Thinking she'd turn to him for comfort," I finished for him. "But he didn't expect to get caught in the act, and he was in no condition to play the solicitous lover until it was far too late. Thanks to you."

"Thanks to me," Edward confirmed.

I suddenly realized I'd joined him in his pacing around the small living room. His restless energy was contagious. God, help us if the hope that was fueling it led nowhere.

"Okay, you've got a suspect and a motive. What's next?"

"Opportunity," he supplied immediately. "Somehow he found out where I was. From there it would be easy to learn I was married."

"So what then – he just happens to arrive here when you've left Bella alone?"

"No, he's been in the area for weeks. Leah Clearwater claimed to detect a strange vampire scent over a month ago, and we all dismissed it. Apparently, he amused himself by knocking off a Picasso while he waited."

"Good lord, I never made that connection," I said, aghast. "Maybe he was trying to get your attention. Psychopaths can be like that – they can't resist flaunting their cleverness."

But Edward was shaking his head. "I considered that, but no. French never knew I'd found out about his forgeries, and he had no way of knowing we owned that drawing. I suspect he felt perfectly safe continuing his usual activities right under our noses, but it is what jumped out at me when I read the journal."

"I take it you believe he confronted Bella in the woods that day – the hiker. Her description – it fits this French character?"

Edward snorted. "It couldn't be more different. He's dark, well-muscled, not in the least unsure of himself."

"Then why such an elaborate disguise? Bella had never seen him before. An accurate description wouldn't bring him to your mind when you assumed he'd been dead for decades."

"He may not realize that. For all he knew, I changed him on purpose and abandoned him to cope on his own. Another reason to hate me."

I felt my mind hurrying to keep up with the sudden flood of ideas. For weeks, I'd been searching for something – anything – that could set us on a productive path. Now he was firing possibilities at me faster than I could examine them. I needed to keep up, if my opinion was going to be of any use to him, and it felt like he might explode out of the cottage any moment.

"Weapon," I said tersely, knowing this was the part where his desperate hope would either stand or fall. "You're assuming that French has a special ability, an incredibly powerful one. What evidence do you have of that?"

Edward stopped pacing and looked at me, as if I hadn't been listening. "Bella," he said. "Whatever was done to her was done that day in that place by him. It's the only explanation."

As a theory, it was completely unprovable, but the words of a fictional character rang in my mind. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,however improbable, must be the truth.

"Yes, I see, but Edward – and you know I hate to bring this up – I'm sure you've considered it as well – what makes you think that French has the ability to undo what he's done? Or that he'd be willing to try?"

"Willing?" His incredulous look was accompanied by the first laugh I'd heard from him in weeks. "Trust me, Carlisle, willing will not be an issue."

"Very well, but the fact remains we know nothing about this ability of his. Why do you think it can be reversed?"

"Because it has to," he said simply, deadly serious again. "I can't . . . live . . . with anything else."

There was nothing to say to that. The room was suddenly filled with a terrible silence. I cleared my throat and rushed to rectify that, "Now, tell me where you're going with all this. I assume you mean to track him down."

"I've been on the phone – with Maurice and the detective I spoke with about the Seattle drawing. I'm attempting to get them to connect some threads, perhaps through Interpol, but convincing them to go back several decades is – to say the least – tricky. Their global view is not quite as far-reaching as ours."

"You think he's returned to Europe?"

"I have no idea. I'm checking everywhere I can to try and pick up a trail."

"What can I do to help? I have to put in some hours at the hospital, but I can work in phone calls while I'm there."

He snatched a piece of paper from his pocket. "These are a few of the exclusive galleries that deal in big-ticket items. If you wouldn't mind contacting them, seeing if they've had any problems. You'll have to say you're a journalist or an investigator or a cautious collector. Can you do that?"

This time my smile was genuine. "You forget that I lie all day every day. Stop trying to hog all the credit. What are you going to do if you find him?"

"I don't know yet. Whatever I have to."

I had no doubt of that. "I'll see what I can find out and call you as soon as possible. Don't do anything definitive until we talk again. I'll come down here when I leave the hospital."

He nodded distractedly, and I left, the adrenaline coursing through my body.

There are advantages to having a job that requires your full attention. Once I'd made a few calls and passed the information onto Edward, I was able to lose myself totally in the work I'd been designed to do.

Happily, there were nothing but routine surgeries scheduled for today, and I gave them my full attention with no leisure to worry about my volatile son and what he might do in such extreme circumstances.

It was nearing four when I left the hospital. I bypassed the house, going straight to the cottage, where I could hear Edward talking on the phone. I let myself in to find him pacing, the small cell I had given him pressed to his ear in his long, white fingers."

"Very upscale," he was saying. "Talk to Christie's and to Sotheby's. And the vault is essential. Yes, a receptionist as well, one who can be trusted."

When he pocketed the phone, he turned to me with a look of fierce determination. "I've found him."

"Already?" I said, shocked. "Are you sure?"

"I'm leaving again for New York in the morning."

"Is that where he is?"

"No, he's somewhere in New England, Boston possibly, but I've set up a lure. From the kind of questionable agents French deals with to impeccable authorities. Seamless. It shouldn't take long, and by the way, I'm going to need that bogus Picasso."

"I . . . okay, of course, it's yours. Would you care to explain any of this?"

"No time."

"All right, but if you plan to confront him, you'd better take Emmett and Jasper with you."

"No, I have to do this by myself. I'm the one who set this in motion, Carlisle. It's my responsibility to see it through,"

"But that was decades ago," I argued. "You had no way of knowing it would come to this. We all want to help."

"I appreciate that. If everything goes according to plan, I'll need it. Just, please, let me do this part my way and stand by until I call."

I wanted to argue, to point out once again that the hopes he had riding on this treacherous phantom might be no more than wishful thinking, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't deprive him of the one thing giving him purpose. "There must be something I can do in the interim."

"There is," he said, fastening me with one of those hypnotic stares that told me I wasn't going to like what I heard. "I need you to give Renesmee to Bella."

"What?"

"This has been hard for her. I'm not leaving her again without a parent."

"Edward, think about what you're saying. The rest of us can keep her distracted until you get back. If we put them together at this stage, there's no telling how Bella will react. If she behaves like she did when she saw you . . ."

"She won't. Jacob agrees with me. He thinks it was all she could do not to sweep Nessie up in her arms when she saw her in the hammock."

Damn, if his stubbornness wasn't overcoming his judgment.

"And what if she had? Nessie would have wakened and said, 'Momma' to a woman who has no memory of having a child, does not even know she's married. We have no idea how Bella's condition actually works. It could do a lot of damage – to both of them."

"Don't you think I've considered all that?" His tone was scathing, but it softened as he went on. "I know my daughter's mind, Carlisle. We've discussed this at length, and she knows what she has to do."

Discussed it? I wondered for a moment if either one of them had ever opened their mouths during this "discussion." But of course, that was the source of his confidence.

The two of them had a flow of communication that was unprecedented even among our kind, one that had begun when Nessie was still in the womb. "I still think it's unfair to put that kind of responsibility on a child."

"It's because she's a child that it can work." And now his voice was back to its most compelling, soft and impossible to ignore.

"She understands the gravity of the situation, as well as any adult, but the little girl in her sees it as a game, a game that can let her spend time with her mother again. She won't jeopardize that. She sees it as a step toward breaking the evil spell. It's up to me to make sure she's not disappointed."

And what if you can't do that? I couldn't help thinking. What if this thing is impossible to undo and you can't keep your promise?

Of course, he heard me. "I have to, Carlisle. There is no other choice for me."

I nodded. "All right. I'll find a way to arrange it."

"Thank you," he said fervently. "Thank you for still trusting me."

"I've never not trusted you," I replied, grabbing him in a fierce, brief hug. "Good luck in New York, son. I know you'll do everything you can."

And with that I fled, fighting off the emotion that wouldn't help my efforts to put his plan into action. I'd need to bring everyone up to speed, but my best bet was Alice. With luck, she could see whether this was going to work, and she was closer to Bella than any of us.

It was going to require some fancy footwork on her part, but Alice is blessed with amazing grace, among other enviable qualities. She'd be our best hope here at home, and Edward – my poor, tormented son – was once again entirely on his own.