Bella's POV

Esme had offered to drive Edward's car, so I was snuggled against his side in the back seat, getting more and more tense the closer we got to Port Angeles. Esme was keeping up a running commentary of stories from her time overseas with Carlisle, and that was doing an okay job of distracting me. Edward was also helping; he'd wrapped me in his embrace—as best he could with us both buckled in seat belts—moments after we climbed into the car, and he hadn't let me go. He hadn't stopped touching me: fingers tracing circles on my palm, soft kisses brushed across my temple...it all combined to keep me feeling as loved and as calm as I could possibly be under the circumstances.

"We're going directly to the station, right?" Esme asked, looking back at us in the rearview mirror.

I felt Edward nod before he said, "I think that's best. I'm assuming they've already cleared out from Bella's apartment, but in case they haven't, this way we'll know." He turned to look at me. "Is that okay with you, Bella?"

"Mmhmm," I answered, agreeing wholeheartedly. "We can go to the apartment after talking to Detective Jordan."

I was trying to be strong; I really was. I wasn't at home when the man broke in. They were just things. But honestly, I was feeling violated, regardless. They were my things. Some stranger had dared to come into my home and mess with my things.

Okay, so maybe there's some anger mixed in with the other feelings, I thought, snorting to myself.

Feeling that anger helped give me some starch in my backbone, something to focus on other than the feelings of violation. I sat up a bit straighter and smiled over at Edward, keeping my fingers entwined with his as we made our way through town towards the station. He gave me a look, just a small smile and a nod, that made me feel proud of myself and reinforced the feeling that I would get through this and come out stronger in the long run.

Being that early in the morning on the day after Thanksgiving, there were several parking spots directly in front of the police station available. After Esme pulled into the one closest to the door, Edward stepped out and offered me his hand. He helped me out of the car before closing the door behind me. With Edward on one side of me and Esme at my back, we walked inside.

Just inside the doors was the front desk, manned by a uniformed officer who looked no older than myself. He must've been a rookie, because his uniform looked brand new, his hair was cut short—almost military-like—and he was watching the door like a hawk. "Good morning. What can I do for you?" he asked as soon as we got to the counter.

"Um, hi," I nearly stammered out. "My name's Bella Swan. Um, Isabella. I'm supposed to meet with Detective Jordan."

The officer looked down at something in front of him and then back up, nodding at me as he picked up the phone.

"Have a seat," he said, motioning to the row of chair alongside the doors. "He'll be right up."

As the officer spoke quietly on the phone, Esme and I sat in two of the chairs. Edward stood beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder and one of his fingers stroking the side of my neck softly. I didn't even notice that one of my legs was bouncing until Esme put a soothing hand on my knee.

"It's going to be okay, sweetie," she said softly, patting my leg gently.

I smiled gratefully at her. It was nice having a mother-figure with me. Edward was being as supportive as I could possibly ask, but sometimes, a girl just needed a mother. Since my own mom wasn't able to be with me, having Esme there was the best possible substitute.

Soon, we heard footsteps coming down the hall to our right. I looked up to see a tall, light-skinned black man coming into view. He was wearing a simple black suit, with a dark gray dress shirt and metallic gray tie. Wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, and he nudged them up farther before reaching out a hand.

"Bella Swan?" he asked, flashing a friendly smile in my direction.

I nodded and shook his hand. "That's me." I tilted my head at Edward and then Esme. "This is my boyfriend, Edward Cullen, and his mother, Esme."

"Nice to meet you," he responded, shaking Edward's hand and smiling at Esme. He looked over at the officer behind the desk. "Thanks, Stephens. I've got them."

The officer at the front desk nodded and resumed watching the front doors.

"Follow me," Detective Jordan said to us. He added, "Could I get anyone anything to drink?"

"No, thank you," I said softly, listening as Edward and Esme echoed my answer.

We followed him down the hall, walking just as we had when we came into the station—Edward's hand in mine and Esme at my back.

The detective led us to a small conference room off the side of a large bullpen. As soon as we were all inside, Detective Jordan shut the door and then moved one of the chairs around so the three of us could sit on one side of the table, while he took the single chair left on the other side.

Edward held both chairs out for his mom and me and then took the third seat on my other side. He immediately reached out, threaded his fingers through mine, and set our joined hands on his thigh.

"Okay, Ms. Swan, let me—"

"Please, call me Bella," I interrupted.

"Bella." He smiled slightly and then turned his attention back to the open file folder in front of him. "Like I mentioned on the phone last night, the silent alarm was triggered from your apartment just before midnight last night. By the time uniforms arrived on scene, the man had already been able to do substantial damage to your property."

"You, uh, mentioned a knife?" I asked around the lump in my throat.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "According to his statement"—he made air quotes around the word—"at the scene, he broke into your apartment. Upon realizing you weren't home, he took the knife he'd brought with him and tore through some of the clothes in the closet. From there, he moved to the dresser. Several of the drawers were opened and had obviously been gone through. When officers found him..." His voice trailed off, and he looked up at my sympathetically.

I squeezed Edward's hand tighter, needing reassurance, somehow knowing whatever else the detective was going to say was worse than what I'd already heard.

"He'd shredded the mattress and was standing beside the bed, using a pair of...delicates to masturbate. There was already ejaculate present when the officers interrupted him," he explained softly.

"Oh, God," I moaned, covering my mouth with my free hand. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Could you give us a minute, please?" I heard Esme ask.

"Yes, certainly," he responded. "I'll go get some water for her. Just stick your head out the door when you're ready for me."

"Bella, love, take slow, deep breaths," Edward said softly beside my ear. "Don't think of anything besides breathing."

~*~*~CIBD~*~*~

Edward's POV

My attention was solely focused on Bella beside me. I barely registered the click of the door when the detective left the room or my mom scooting her chair closer and rubbing Bella's back.

Bella was whimpering softly, rocking back and forth and holding her stomach. I crouched down beside her chair and looked up at her.

"I'm right here, Bella," I murmured when she moaned softly. "It's all right, love. Just take your time. Deep breaths. You can do it."

I was worried she was going to hyperventilate.

Finally, Bella took a shuddering breath and sat up, clutching my hand tightly. She was shaking and pale, but didn't look nearly as sick as she had.

"Are you ready, Bella? We can wait if you aren't."

She swallowed and then nodded. "I'm okay," she said, her voice a little raw.

With a nod of my head, I motioned for my mom to get the detective.

As my mom poked her head out the door, I slid up into my chair and took her hand again.

Bella gave it a squeeze and looked over at me with a tremulous smile. She'd had a bit of a panic attack and had felt sick, but she was much more calm now.

I, on the other hand, was having to actively work to keep my features arranged in a supportive smile and not let on how extraordinarily pissed off and disgusted I felt inside. If I wasn't needed here, nothing could have stopped me from tearing apart everything and everyone in this police station to find the man who had desecrated my love's privacy. I'd never felt this level of pent-up rage before in my life.

Detective Jordan slid into his seat and passed Bella the small cup of water he'd brought in for her.

"Ready to continue?" he asked sympathetically. At her nod, he said, "I'm going to show you a photo, and I'd like you to tell me if you recognize the man." He pulled a picture out, setting it face down on the table between him and Bella.

"Okay," Bella said, nodding once.

He turned the photo over, and immediately, Bella stiffened.

"That's him," she muttered softly.

From the description I remembered her giving me at the time, the mug shot of the man in front of her was the guy who'd come into her store over a month before. Laurent.

"You recognize him?" Detective Jordan asked.

"He—" Bella paused, taking a deep breath. "He came into my store a couple of months ago. He asked me several questions about my store and apartment, whether I lived alone. They seemed innocent enough, like he was interested in the building and store itself, but something about him scared me. Some friends of mine happened to stop by, and they scared him off. I haven't seen him since."

"Who is he?" I growled, nearly losing control of my temper. I calmed slightly when Bella squeezed my hand.

"His name is Laurent Moreau. He was released three months ago from the United States Penitentiary in Tucson, Arizona."

Bella gasped, and her hand clenched mine with enough force that I knew I'd have a bruise.

"That has some significance to you?" he asked, looking from Bella, to me, and then back to Bella.

She nodded. "My ex-boyfriend, from college, is in prison there."

"His name?" the detective asked, opening the folder in front of him. "Just for verification."

"James Powell."

Detective Jordan nodded slowly. "Powell was Moreau's cell mate for the last two and a half years, up until he was released."

"James told him about me?" Bella asked, and I heard her swallow visibly.

"It appears so," the detective answered. "According to Mr. Moreau's statement, Powell spoke about you on multiple occasions. It seems like Mr. Moreau became...obsessed with you, and when he was released, he made the decision to find you."

"How did he?" I jumped in to ask. "How did he track Bella to Port Angeles, of all places?"

"We're still looking into that, but from what Mr. Moreau has admitted, he tracked down your father on the Internet—a case from last year that had Chief Swan's name in the news—and a few months ago, I'm betting just before he showed up at your store, he broke in to your father's house and found your new address written on a paper by the phone."

Bella looked sick to her stomach, and I wanted to get her out of there as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the detective continued his questions.

We spent a few more minutes going over everything with the detective, and then he slid a business card across the desk. "With all the evidence against him and the violent nature of the crime—not to mention his statement—I don't anticipate Moreau making bail. If he does, I'll let you know. The number I reached you at last night is the one to use if I need to get in touch with you?"

"Yes," Bella said, nodding, before reaching out and taking his card.

"All right. Your apartment has been cleared by the CSIs, so you're free to go home. Please don't hesitate to call if you have any questions or concerns about the case or Moreau," he said, gathering up the photo and papers into the file.

"Thank you," Bella murmured, sliding the card into her pocket.

I held my hand out for the detective to shake and said, "Thanks. Please call if you learn any more about Powell."

"Will do." He walked to the door and said, "Wait just a moment, and someone will be here to walk you back to the front."

I nodded, and as he walked out, I gathered Bella up into a hug, cradling her carefully in my arms until her shaking stopped. My mom came up behind Bella and took her from me, pulling her into her own hug.

"I won't ask how you're doing," she told her, "but know that you're safe and that my family and I will do everything we can to help you through this."

"Thanks," Bella said with a sniffle, her voice muffled in my mom's shirt.

I saw a uniformed policeman standing just outside the door.

"Come on, love," I said, wrapping my arm around her waist. "Let's get out of here."

"'Kay," she agreed, snuggling close to me as we walked out, following the officer.

~*~*~CIBD~*~*~

Bella's POV

We drove home the same way we'd driven from Forks: Esme in the driver's seat, Edward and me in the back. When we pulled up at the stores, Esme parked, and we all climbed out of the car. Immediately, I slid my hand into Edward's.

At the top of the stairs, Edward gave my hand a squeeze and asked, "Why don't you and my mom go on in to my apartment, and I'll go take a quick look at your place by myself?"

I was quiet a minute, giving it serious consideration. The idea had definite merits. Did I really want to see what was left from Laurent's break-in? No...

But I needed to.

"No," I said, my voice shaky, but firm. "I need to do this. Let's just get it over with."

"I'll just wait in Edward's apartment," Esme told us. "Unless you'd like me in there with you." She looked at me questioningly.

I shook my head. "I'll be okay with Edward there. Thanks, Esme."

"My pleasure, sweetheart." She smiled and then looked at Edward. "Keys, son?"

Edward, who had his keys already out of his pocket, handed them to his mother. "Bella, do you have yours?"

Nodding, I pulled them from my pocket and handed them to him.

As soon as Esme was inside Edward's apartment with the door closed behind her, he led me to my own door. After unlocking it, he paused with his hand on the knob.

"Are you sure, love?" His voice was soft, wrapping around me like a warm blanket and caressing my senses.

"No," I answered truthfully, "but let's just get it done so it's over with."

He nodded and opened the door.

From the front door, the apartment looked no different than it had when we left the day before, aside from the dirty tracks left on the carpet and the powder residue left along the door frame and edge of the door from the collection of evidence.

We were quiet as we walked down the hall. I went first, slowly, with Edward at my back. There was a strand of police tape the CSIs had missed in the hall a few feet from my door. I reached down to grab it, holding it tightly in my fist and taking a deep breath before moving the last few feet into my room.

I froze just inside the doorway. The first thing my mind processed was the lack of bedding on the bed. The mattress had been stripped, and all the bedding, including the pillows, was gone. There were four gaping rips in the top of the mattress itself, and I could see the inside stuffing and springs through the tears in the fabric.

Slowly turning to take in the rest of the room, my gaze fell first on the closet. Everything I could see had at least one slash from Laurent's knife, and many were in tatters. My knees began to feel weak, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

I turned a bit more, and the dresser came into view. Fingerprint powder covered many of the drawers, as well as the top. Two of the drawers were empty, having been dumped out, several were just pulled open a little, and the top left drawer was pulled completely open. From there, I could see my underwear, which had obviously all been riffled through.

I swallowed hard, trying again to keep from throwing up, and suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. I heard an angry growl and then a loud crash from behind me.

It was all too much. I felt my mind shutting down, and then thankfully, there was nothing but darkness.

~*~*~CIBD~*~*~

Edward's POV

Bella and I stepped into the room, and I had to work not to be sick. The room looked like a war zone. The clothes—including the beautiful blue dress she'd worn for our first date—were in shreds, and the mattress was bare; there was nothing to hide the destruction to the bed, since the police had collected all the bedding.

I felt absolutely sick to my stomach with anger and even grief that, had this happened a few nights ago, Bella might have been in the bed when the fucker had broken in. Would it have been her body with the wounds instead of the mattress? Was this all just a substitute for what he'd wanted to do to my Bella?

My hands were closed in tight fists as I let my gaze wander from the bed to the dresser. When I saw the piles of lace and satin and cotton, I lost it. I growled in anger, knowing the sick bastard had put his hands on all those most personal, intimate items of clothing. He'd used at least one of them in his sick fantasies.

Before I knew it, I reacted. My calm was gone as I spun on my heel and threw my fist through the wall.

Until the pain hit, I didn't even realize what I'd done. When I pulled my arm back, my hand was bloody. I'd broken the skin on all my knuckles, and blood was beginning to trickle down my fist to my arm. Immediately, I felt ashamed. This wasn't how I should be reacting. My Bella needed me to be stro—

"Bella!" I cried as I turned back around and saw her in a heap on the floor. "Shit!"