A/N: Here's the first of two epilogues, as promised!

All standard disclaimers apply.


One year later

It was a pleasant Saturday for once—cloudy, yes, but dry. People appeared as if from hibernation whenever dry weather fell on a weekend, and as Frank Zinecki strolled along the Bridge of Glass, plenty of joggers, walkers, and families surrounded him.

He liked this place because of the people, and he didn't give a fuck about the extensive collection of Chihuly art on both sides and above. Zinecki wasn't "that sort of person," in his words. He liked cheap beer, violent sports, and girls with big tits. Being a police officer made him feel important. When he arrested some punk-ass kid, he could yell at the little fucker and call him whatever he wanted. He could be a little rough handcuffing and patting them down—or a lot rough, if he judged that the asshole wouldn't rat him out. He wasn't stupid. He knew the range of his dashboard cam, and which intersections in town had their own cameras. No way was he going to risk his job, and someday his pension.

By this point in his career, he was an expert at reading people. He knew when someone was lying to him. He knew who was likely to talk and who would keep their mouth shut. Hell, he could even pretty much tell what someone speaking Spanish or Thai was trying to say, even though he didn't speak the language. Language had nothing to do with it. Everyone, they all said the same things. Yes, officer. No, officer. I don't remember, officer.

A man with a familiar-looking moustache walked past, and Zinecki's mind rolled back more than a year, to the last time he'd seen his old friend, Charlie Swan. It was too bad about Charlie, really. A fishing accident was such...such an elderly way to die. He might as well have just fallen asleep in his recliner and never woken up. For his part, Zinecki wanted to go down on the job. If not, and he ever got to see his pension, he wanted to die in the middle of a good fuck. Heart attacks during sex weren't all that uncommon, after all. He snickered softly, hiding his smirk with a little cough. He'd just like to see the face of the bitch he was riding when she realized she was fucking a corpse. That shit would be fucking hilarious.

As Zinecki angled his way downtown, his thoughts remained on Charlie Swan. The guy had been a good cop, a good friend. Whatever his vices, he was in God's hands now. Zinecki wasn't sure he believed in God. Definitely he never let any dogma guide his actions or anything, but still sometimes he wondered just where he was going when he eventually died. Not often. Just...sometimes when he woke up at three a.m. alone in his house, the velvet silence pressing in. Or when someone looked him in the eye like they could read his thoughts, see his daydreams—like he had a big cartoon thought-bubble hovering over his head.

He knew perfectly well that most people wouldn't like what they saw.

Thoughts about Charlie Swan led, inevitably, to thoughts of Charlie's daughter, Bella. Now, there was a girl it didn't hurt to think about. Her tits weren't really big enough for his taste, but she'd only been fifteen the last time he'd seen her. She had time to grow.

But oh, even at fifteen, she was just too perfect to resist, and so Zinecki hadn't. Charlie had brought her along to some training thing or whatever in Seattle, and told her to stay in the hotel and keep quiet. A sick smile creased Zinecki's mouth as he remembered. Really, what was he supposed to do? He was a man, after all, and he could only stand so much temptation. One day while everyone else was at the training, he went back to the hotel where he knew Charlie's little girl was waiting.

She'd cried, but he knew that was just because she thought she was expected to. Really, she wanted it. Of course she wanted it. If she didn't, she wouldn't have looked like that, all sweet and doe-eyed, with that perfect teenage body...

Clearing his throat abruptly, Zinecki changed direction. He headed toward the port of Tacoma and the warehouse district, his mind still full of Charlie's daughter. He'd warned her not to tell, but the first chance she got, what did she do? She tattled to her father. When Charlie came to him for an explanation, Zinecki just gave him the truth: she was asking for it, and he could only stand so much.

Charlie had understood.

And to make sure the girl also understood, Zinecki had returned to her the next day with two willing accomplices to hold her down. He was the police. When he gave an order, it was meant to be obeyed.

"Frank Zinecki, is that you?"

The female voice was warm, like honey. He paused and looked around, zeroing in on a vision of perfection heading his way.

He recognized her instantly, though she looked so...different. Several years had matured Charlie Swan's teenage daughter into a gorgeous fucking young woman. She was slender and willowy but the curves of her hips and tits made him swallow hard. Once clumsy and awkward, she now strode along the street with utter confidence, a kind of fearless attitude he would never have imagined she'd gain. Long, thick brown hair, gorgeous full lips...she was the total package. She was the reason why every other pathetic woman puked up their dinners into the toilet every day.

"It's Isabella!" She paused once she reached a comfortable speaking distance, put one hand on her hip, and pouted those drool-worthy lips. "Don't you remember me?"

A smile curled his mouth. She bore him no ill-will? That definitely meant she had wanted him back then.

And now? "Oh, I remember you, Isabella. I remember you very well."

Her face brightened with a delighted smile. So hot. If he'd thought having her back then was good, how much better would it be now, when she was all grown up and looking like that? He ached to find out.

"You never came to see me again after Seattle," she said, her smile dimming somewhat. "Why didn't you ever come?"

Zinecki stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to adjust himself without giving too much away. "Oh, Isabella," he purred, lowering his voice, "you know I would have loved to come." He emphasized the word, just knowing she'd used it on purpose, too. "But your daddy, you see, baby girl. He would have been in our way."

She took a step sideways, legs open in a pronounced V under her short little blue plaid skirt. He watched those legs, the navy blue heels below them, aching to touch again what was up under that skirt. She was dolled up almost like a naughty schoolgirl, and the thought had him rock hard and panting for her.

Another step brought her up against the brick wall of an alleyway beside them. Smiling, she tilted her head toward the darkness between two warehouses. "He's not in the way now."

"No, he certainly isn't." Sorry, Charlie. Not that the dead man would care. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. Sweat stood out on his forehead and rolled down his back. "I'm so sorry I never came for you after Seattle, baby girl. Should I fix that now? Hm?"

"Please?"

Oh, that word undid him. His heart churned even faster. It was actually starting to hurt a little bit, and he was sweating profusely. Why did this feel so much different than the first time he'd taken her? She might think she was a big girl now, but he was still in charge. Nothing had changed except the size of those tits he ached to squeeze. "Be a good girl now, and Uncle Frank will make it all better." He stepped into the alley, but those two steps...something was wrong. He doubled over, hands on his knees. He was really starting to feel funny. His vision swam.

"What's wrong, Uncle Frank?"

Only now did he hear the mocking lilt under the sweetness of her voice.

"You..."

"Me?" She pointed at her chest with wide open eyes, but that innocent expression was anything but.

"What did you...do?" he panted.

"I didn't do anything." She shook her head from side to side to emphasize her point.

"I did, actually."

A male figure stepped out from behind a dumpster. He was tall—lean but muscular. Young and handsome, with pitch black eyes. Zinecki's mind was whirling and he felt a strange floating sensation, but he was lucid enough to recognize the man. It was the waiter from the sandwich shop where he'd had lunch just an hour or so before.

"I'm sure you've dealt with plenty of roofied girls before, whether on the job or off," Isabella said, dropping the playful, innocent act. "But I bet you've never actually been drugged yourself." She smiled, but the curve of her lush lips now looked like the edge of a blade. What color had her eyes been before—back in Seattle? He scrabbled in his confused mind for the answer. Right now they were the color of brick. Was that normal? Did people have brick-colored eyes? Fumbling, he lost his struggle with gravity and tumbled to his ass on the filthy pavement, his back hitting the wall behind him hard.

"The thing about ketamine here," the man said, pulling out a yellow prescription bottle and tapping the lid with his index finger, "is that you're not going to sleep. You're going to stay awake, paralyzed but aware, for the next...oh...two hours or so." He screwed up his face and tilted his head from side to side. "Oooor until she kills you. Whichever comes first."

Charlie Swan's little girl squatted in front of him, retaining perfect balance on the balls of her feet. No way would that kid have been able to do that three years ago. She'd have fallen flat on her face.

Or would she? He was definitely having trouble keeping his mind clear, especially when he looked at those brick-colored eyes. They stared at him without blinking, and even though she was just a young woman, a girl really, fear uncurled in his belly and bled up through his chest. He could breathe and he could move his eyes, but he was unable to do anything else—his own body made useless by chemicals.

"I had to think a lot about this, you know," she said, her hands on her knees as she watched him, unflinching. "I didn't know how I would feel about seeing you again—sharing the same air as you." She grinned and glanced up at the man beside her. "Of course, I don't breathe anymore, so that's something."

The man chuckled, showing very white, sharp-looking teeth.

"I didn't even know how much you knew about what happened after Seattle." Isabella's eyes flicked back to him. There was something...animal about her. Zinecki wanted to shudder, but his body wouldn't even do that much. He was frozen. "Edward reads minds, though, and he told me after taking your order at the restaurant that you really had no clue." She shrugged, nothing but her shoulders moving. Her balance remained perfect. "Not that it would have changed my mind. The thing is, Frank, not knowing isn't enough to save you. Not after what you did." She shook her head and, for the first time, he saw her confidence falter, just for a moment. For one heartbeat, she looked again like the little girl he'd taken in that hotel in Seattle—younger, even, maybe. He wondered what she was thinking. Why the hell was she doing this? What did she want from him? Surely she didn't actually mean to kill him?

That regal self-assured aura returned to her almost immediately, but instead of calm, Isabella was angry. "I was fifteen, asshole! Fifteen. What the hell were you thinking? That it was okay to overpower and rape a fifteen-year-old girl? That there would never be any consequences for what you did?"

She raised herself to her full height, pacing away three steps down the dingy alley before turning and pacing back. "Charlie might not have cared, but guess what? I did. I did! And it's my opinion that counts now. You know why?" She smiled down at him, suddenly calm. "Because Charlie's dead, Frank. Edward here killed him, and I didn't cry one single tear. Just like I won't once you're gone."

Pausing, she knelt again and picked up his lifeless hand. He could feel her touch, but he couldn't respond to it. The fear in his chest tightened around his heart, constricting the muscle. It pulsed, hard and out of rhythm, struggling to work against the tide of drugs and terror. What the hell had happened to Isabella? This was not the little girl he remembered.

She cocked her head to the side as if considering. Her hand was as cold as stone under his. Raising her eyes to his, she took hold of his middle finger. Just the barest flick of her grip and pain exploded through his hand and up his arm, though the bellow that tried to burst from his lungs was only a tiny squeak. Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks.

"Human bones break so easily," Isabella mused. "Edward, I know I'm repeating myself, but I'm constantly in awe of how careful you were with me when I was this breakable."

"How could I be otherwise?"

"Others weren't." Another flick. Another broken finger. "I'm going to clue you in on some things, Frank. I guess Charlie never told you, but you left me with a little reminder of your attacks." She broke his pinky, almost ripping it from his hand. He wheezed, unable to scream. "I wanted to get rid of it, but Charlie wouldn't let me. He made me have the baby so he had something to hold over my head. If I ever ran away, he would have punished the boy in my place."

Boy. What boy? What was she talking about? Zinecki couldn't keep up. Too many words. Too much pain. He wanted to scream, wanted to writhe, but his body remained still.

"Eventually, though, I found good people to help me, people who loved me. They helped me get away, and I put the baby in the care of parents who love him. He's going to grow up to be nothing like you." She dropped his hand and stood. "There's just one little problem. You see, we decided that when he gets old enough to start asking questions, we're going to tell him that his biological father is dead. That you were a bad man and did some very bad things, but he doesn't ever have to worry about you finding him, because you. Are. Dead. And that's where the problem lies, because Frank? No matter what you told Charlie, I am not a liar. I didn't lie when I told him you raped me, and because I won't lie to Mason, you, Frank, have to die."

Her foot came down on his left knee, shattering the joint. A shard of patella sliced through thin skin and he began to bleed. Isabella's nose fluttered and she stilled for a moment.

"Bella?"

"I'm okay." She flashed a smile at the tall man beside her—no woman had ever smiled at Zinecki like that, ever. It was a smile of gratitude, and love, and a devotion that ran deeper than blood, deeper than rock and water, deeper than time. He could only wonder at it. If anyone ever gave him a smile like that, he wouldn't know what to do with it.

"There are several reasons why you have to die. Partially it's the consequence for raping a fifteen-year-old girl and taking away her future—though I found another, so my story, at least, has a happy ending. It's also to save any more girls from my fate, because most rapists don't stop raping and I don't trust you around any female of any age. And, of course, Charlie was the head villain of this story, but you were his henchman, and in the end the villains always get what's coming to them."

She dropped in front of him again. "I'll also admit that I'm going to kill you because, even though I now have everything I could ever want, I'm not big enough to just forgive what you did to me. So there's that, too. I considered ripping off your dick and balls and letting you live like that, forever disfigured, but then I decided that just wasn't a neat enough ending. We've all seen The Princess Bride. We all know that Humperdinck goes after them the minute his guards untie him. Not that I think you'd ever find me, and I'm definitely not afraid of you anymore, but..." She shrugged, then smiled at him, a smile that said so much, if he could only understand it. "Goodbye, Frank."


Late that night, Bella sat next to Edward in her old bed in the beautiful, modern house just outside Forks, Washington that had been her first real, true home. The utilities had been turned off when they moved and some of the sentimental pieces of furniture packed up and shipped to Britain, but a lot of items still remained. With her perfect vampire vision and impervious vampire body she needed neither light nor heat, and she enjoyed experiencing this home the way her family had experienced it when she was still human.

Returning to this place felt...bittersweet. She curled into the arms of her husband, watching the large diamond solitaire on her ring glimmer in what little light bled through the windows. This house had been both her sanctuary and her prison for long months while she remained a scared little human, terrified that Charlie would get to her despite the protection of her loving vampire family. Ellison had been born here. There were good memories as well as bad.

But Forks, too, had changed, even in just a year or so. Billy Black had died of diabetes complications, his ashes scattered at the fishing hole where Charlie's death was staged. A small plaque now stood there, hidden by bracken fern, with both names on it. Bella had stared at the inscription for several minutes with no emotion—no anger, no grief, just nothing. That part of her life was over, and she was done with it. Her body could shed no tears, but she didn't need to cry anyway. Charlie was gone, and the town and reservation could remember him any way they chose. Their opinions couldn't hurt her. Not anymore.

Jacob hadn't bothered graduating. She had sent him a letter before they left, telling him that her family was making a fresh start somewhere else and asking him not to follow. He'd obeyed, more or less, but left the reservation soon after. She heard through the supernatural grapevine that he had devoted himself to killing vampires, stalking and hunting those that chose to prey on humans. By staying near his loathed enemies, he would remain young as he waited for Ellison to grow up.

Over my undead body, Edward had growled when he heard. Bella couldn't dredge up the same sort of anger. When she came of age, Ellison would make her own choices. If that choice was Jacob Black, Bella would not interfere. But she also would never push her daughter toward the man who had once been her only friend. Secretly, she doubted Jake would ever win Ellie's heart. She was just so much...so much more than he ever had been, ever would be.

And, regardless, Jake was going to have to wait a long, long time.

Carlisle's suspicion about Ellie's growth had so far been borne out. She was a year old in age, but still essentially a newborn in development. Their vampire family could detect subtle changes that proved she would not remain a child forever—something absolutely not permitted by the Volturi—but she was growing incredibly slowly.

Nobody minded. The longer she took to mature, the more they got to savor each stage of her development. There was no rush. They had eternity.

The buzz of Bella's phone on the nightstand made her jerk, and she grabbed for it with more grace than she ever had as a human. "Hello, Alice," she said without even glancing at the caller ID.

"Bella? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but are you guys going to be back soon? Shit, I hate not being able to see your future! I swear I'm not complaining, but Ellie kind of is. She wants her mommy and daddy back, and no one else will do, not even Carlisle."

The cranky cries in the background proved Alice's words were quite true. They pulled at Bella's heart—she ached to be back with her baby, too. But this trip had been necessary. It was time to clear away loose ends and put the past to rest.

"Take me to her." She rolled in the big bed until she faced Edward, the phone held between them. His arm curled around her waist, pulling her close. "Ellie, baby girl, it's okay. You're fine. I'm right here," her lilting voice called soothingly to her baby. Immediately the cries paused.

"Daddy's here, too, lovebug," Edward said. "We'll be back with you tomorrow, I promise, princess. You need to behave for Aunt Alice until then, and Daddy will bring you something pretty."

Bella rolled her eyes. Ellie had no idea what presents were, or what to do with anything that wasn't a nipple filled with either milk or blood, but everyone in the family spoiled her with gifts anyway. Together, she and Mason had more stuffed animals, baby toys, books, and clothes than a good-sized suburban neighborhood. Because giving gifts gave her family joy, Bella didn't say anything to them about it. But really, it was a tad ridiculous.

Rosalie's harried voice called over the phone, "Tell her to vomit on someone else next time, too!"

Instantly Bella sat up. "Is she sick? Does she have a fever? Should we try to get a flight before tomorrow morning? What if—"

"She's fine," Alice soothed. "Just fine. She just got the hiccups and spit up a bunch, that's all."

The family had discovered after Mason's arrival that Rosalie, oddly enough, was completely fine with dirty diapers but could not stand vomit. Emmett handled the upchuck, as he called it. Bella didn't really mind either task—not that she'd honestly changed many of Ellie's diapers. When she was human Edward's nose always smelled them before hers did, and he was very much a hands-on daddy. He was ecstatic about helping with feeding when Bella decided, four months ago, that she was ready to be changed. Ellie was growing so slowly that Bella was afraid she'd be middle-aged before her daughter stopped nursing, and that just wasn't on her agenda. So she'd made the choice she always intended to, and asked Edward to bite her.

Ellie was inconsolable for the three days she spent without her mother—only the soothing sound of Edward's piano managed to lull her to sleep. She fought the change to baby formula and animal blood tooth and nail, capitulating only when she was too hungry to fight any more. Edward hunted the wildest creatures he could find for her, bringing back blood from far away animals, sometimes, since the wildest game in England was deer and boar. She liked fox best of all the British animals, and turned her nose up at anything at all from the sea. Edward brought her a narwhal tusk and mounted it on the wall of her fairy-princess themed nursery as a "unicorn" horn, though she refused to drink the narwhal's blood.

"Did she throw up on you, Rose?" Bella asked, nose scrunched up as she commiserated with her sister. "I'm so sorry."

"No, but she vomited all over Mason. In his hair even. She's like a quarter his size, so how she managed to do it I don't know. But it was vile, Bella. Vile. Alice fed her a little formula and a little blood and when it came back up it was like Pepto-Bismol pink, and...ugh. I can't even talk about it, I'm getting grossed out again."

Bella stifled a laugh, knowing Rose was dead serious. "We'll be back before you know it," she promised her sisters...and her daughter. Being away from Ellie hurt something inside her, and there was no way she could do it for long. Even just after her change, when Edward worried that her vampire instincts would overpower her, she couldn't keep away from her little girl. Her insistence that she was fine had been borne out, too—not once had she felt even the tiniest desire to bite her baby. Full humans caused more of a problem, but Bella's natural control over herself as a human had intensified when she became a vampire. Though the vampire thirst sang in her bloodless veins, she was able to repress it with far more ease than a typical newborn.

Her husband was extremely proud of her.

Now, hearing Ellie's whiny, tired cries start up again, Edward rolled Bella out of bed, scooping up both her and the phone, and an instant later they were in the silent living room. He settled her on the piano bench, then whipped the dustcloth off the instrument.

The piano hadn't been tuned lately—Edward had a full grand at Ellison House and no need for this smaller one—but Ellie didn't care. The minute her lullaby began, the cranky cries over the phone ceased. Alice gave a soft little hum of pleasure, and Bella rested her head against her husband's shoulder. So much had changed since the first time she saw him walking the halls of Forks High School, and not just her. Despite his earlier assertion that vampires were frozen and immutable, Edward himself had changed quite a bit. He'd learned how to love and trust just as much as she had. The give and take of their relationship was not instantaneous, but Bella felt that what they'd achieved was all the more precious for the work and pain that went into it. Through heartache and sorrow, anger and fear, they'd struggled to reach this moment. Now everything else melted away, until it was just the two of them, together, and the music.