Rosalie walks through cluttered aisles of housewares, picking up candles at random to try to find one that smells good enough to put in her apartment.
She wants something unintrusive, but still noticeable enough for guests to compliment. Something that says wow, what a lovely home and I wish I lived here, but I know I never will.
She could still be in Whistler skiing if it weren't for Bella's sudden, weird tantrum about wanting to go see her mom. Instead, Rosalie's in Seattle shopping.
Jasper texted her earlier that morning saying the mousy freshman girl actually went to go see her creepy TA and something about police being involved, but that's beside the point.
Esme trails behind her with a cart full of throw pillows, a large canvas painting, and an area rug for the living room.
"I think the house I'm redoing right now is haunted. I was painting in the upstairs nursery a few nights ago, and heard really strange noises," the soft-spoken brunette says, picking up a tropical candle, sniffing it, and setting it back down with a displeased expression. "It's like over a hundred years old, so someone's bound to have died there, right?"
"What kind of noises? Do you think it's an opossum that's living in a wall or something?" Rosalie asks, setting down a candle that smells like a flowery old shoe.
"Probably. That explains the sounds, but it doesn't explain the terrifying and very haunted carpeted bathroom."
"Oh, ew. That's gross," the blond grimaces in distaste.
"Yeah, the past owner's renovation they did in the seventies didn't age well."
Rosalie finds a candle that smells like vanilla and sandalwood and holds it out to Esme. "What about this?"
Esme nods. "It's a nice clean, comforting scent. I like it."
The blond sets it in the cart and continues to browse through a shelf of ceramic planters. Maybe she needs a plant. She'll probably kill it, though.
"How long did it take before you were over your ex-husband and everything?" Rosalie asks. "When did you start feeling normal again?"
"Normal?" Esme presses her lips together, thinking for a while before she speaks. "Hm...that's difficult to say. It's not something that happens overnight, and it's not a linear process, either."
"But you said you're doing a lot better now, right?"
"Mhm, I am. The past couple of years have treated me pretty well," the home decorator says with a smile. "I don't know that I'd say things ever go entirely back to normal, but it's close. I like my job, I have a good husband and friends, I love my house...I'd say I have plenty more good days than not."
Rosalie nods and aimlessly wanders down an aisle of bakeware. She picks up a set of snowflake cookie cutters and throws them in the cart without much thought.
"How's everything going?" asks Esme.
"I feel like things are settling down now that I have my car and the rest of my things here," the blond replies, looking at her reflection in a mirrored chest of drawers. Her lipstick needs to be touched up. She grabs the shiny metal tube from her bag and swipes on another coat of glossy red.
She eyes her friend's lilac silk blouse in the mirrored surface as well and thinks about how she saw a similar top on Vogue's website not too long ago.
"How are things with Emmett?" the caramel brunette asks.
Rosalie isn't sure how to respond. How are things with Emmett? "Okay. He's nice. He reminds me of an oversized Labradoodle puppy," she replies.
That makes Esme laugh. "Outgoing, smart, and always wants to play? Sounds about right."
"Yeah. He's not the type I'd normally be interested in, but what I've gone after in the past didn't exactly get me far," the blond reflects somberly. "I'm not sure what I want anymore."
Esme's brown eyes look at her fondly. She gives her a small smile. "Have fun. Get to know each other. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. It's not the end of the world. You're still so young."
"I guess so."
"Well, I think you're cute together," her friend says decidedly. "I saw you sleeping on his shoulder during the car ride back from Whistler. It was sweet."
Rosalie feels herself get a little flushed, but she doesn't have any words to defend herself with. She did sleep through most of the drive, and she did lean against him because he was ultimately more comfortable than the window.
Even if she doesn't want to admit it to herself or anyone else yet, she has a crush.
...
"Here, drink this," Alice says as she comes back into her bedroom, handing Jasper a mug of murky liquid.
He takes a sip. It's tea of some kind, bitter and earthy tasting.
The pint-sized prophet takes a seat at her vanity, picking up a container off the tabletop and dabbing the contents under her eyes. There's an assortment of different cosmetics lined up across the mirror that she begins to apply in a deliberate order.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
"Not bad," Jasper says from his spot seated on the edge of her bed. "Better."
He didn't wake up in the middle of the night feeling like he was crawling out of his skin. It might be because he was too exhausted from their late-night excursion to save Bella from her deranged TA. Or it could be because he spent the entire eight hours with Alice curled up against his chest. Either way, he's feeling well-rested.
Alice smiles, brushing a warm pinkish powder onto her cheeks and eyelids with a light hand. She's wearing a ruffled-sleeve dress in a similar blush hue.
"I didn't know you danced," he says, remembering the photos of her he'd seen the night before.
"I did ballet from preschool through high school," she replies matter-of-factly. "I even had an audition with Juilliard, but I skipped it and enrolled at the university here instead."
"Why didn't you go? Did you decide you were tired of it?"
Alice doesn't answer right away, focusing on lining her eyes with a dark liquid eyeliner instead, her hand steady as she pulls out the wing slightly.
"No, that's not it," she says, her voice breezy and faint. "I love to dance."
She glances up at him in the reflection of the mirror, and for a split second, a hint of unease crosses her features.
"I injured my knee," she says. "It's fine for everyday things, but I can't dance on it forty-plus hours a week anymore like I used to."
She must miss it.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he sympathizes. He watches her continue to apply a variety of cosmetics, dusting on a shimmery powder with steady motions. "This was in Biloxi?"
She lines the bottom of her lashes with a brown pencil, focused intently on her task. "Mhm."
"What made you choose Seattle then?"
"My future changed. I got a vision that I was supposed to be here and just got on the first bus out of town," she says simply. "That's when I first saw you."
He's taken aback. "Me? That had to have been two or three years ago."
Alice finishes putting the final touches on her makeup, swiping mascara on her lashes, and turns around in her chair to face him.
"Yeah, just about. I saw you in the diner," she says with a laugh. "And now we're here."
"That's a hell of a lead-up. How did you know what day to show up?" he asks.
She tilts her head, amused with his question. "I didn't. I just went every morning that it was raining."
In a city like Seattle where it's wet a large portion of the year, that's a lot of waiting.
"Please tell me you're kidding and you didn't go to all that trouble for me," he says in disbelief.
She scrunches her nose at him with a grin. "I could, but then I'd be lying."
"Well, thank you for thinking I was worth the trip," he expresses bashfully. "I'm grateful to have met you."
Jasper still hasn't asked her what he'd been wanting to since last night. He doesn't want to overwhelm her with questions all at once, but the missing person flier is still bothering him. What had happened to her?
"So my full name is Mary Alice, as you saw on that poster last night. I go by Alice for short because I like it better," she says, beating him to his question before he has a chance to ask it. "I moved to Seattle after my mother died."
Her explanation is brief at best, and it leaves a lot to the imagination.
"It's kind of fuzzy and I don't remember it so well..." she says more so to herself than him. She grabs her phone off the vanity and comes to sit next to him on the bed, her knee pressed against his leg. She types something into the search engine with her long, pink, marble-patterned nails.
She hands him the phone with an article from two years ago pulled up, detailing the murder of Mrs. Brandon from Biloxi, Mississippi, by her husband Mr. Brandon. It states there was a mistress involved and two teenage children were left behind, unnamed. Mr. Brandon was sentenced to life in prison. The mistress-turned-wife was still on trial at the time the article was posted.
He looks up from the phone screen to Alice watching him intently, her delicate features serious.
"These are your parents?" he asks. "The girl in the photo you took, is that your sister?"
She nods. "I saw a vision that my mother was going to be killed, so I tried to warn them. A few months after she passed, my father remarried."
"His new wife didn't like me much. My sister Cynthia was her favorite. We were forced together in the house a lot, though," she recounts. "My stepmother shoved me while we were arguing one day, and I fell down the stairs. That's how my knee got hurt. After that I stayed in a psychiatric ward for a while."
"I only stayed there a few months before being released. By then my father was all over the papers and I was ready to move west," she concludes.
Jasper looks at her baffled by how okay she seems with everything despite it having happened fairly recently. "A while back when you said you'd try to think up a secret to share I didn't think that it would be this."
"I know, I'm sorry. It wasn't a good time to bring it up, and, like I said before, I don't remember much more of it," she reinforces. "Are you mad?"
"No, I just wasn't expecting it. Why were you in a psychiatric ward?"
"Normal people don't see visions of the future," she says plainly. "They thought I was making it up to cause trouble, I think. You know I'm not, though. I wouldn't do that."
"Your track record is pretty solid," he says reassuringly. "I don't doubt it."
"Right!" She grins, seemingly relieved and happy with his response. "Exactly!"
...
"It's all my fault. I'm cursed," Edward anguishes. "I'm the reason why Bella's facing so many problems."
The microwave beeps and Emmett takes out his plate of Bagel Bites, poking at one to test the temperature. "What are you even talking about?"
"She's been driving around in that death trap of a truck for three years now, apparently, and only started having brushes with death since meeting me. She almost fell head-first down a flight of stairs on campus when we first met, she was nearly mugged and stabbed in Queen Anne before our first date, and then on our first vacation together she's stalked and assaulted by a serial killer."
"Sounds pretty normal to me. I've almost died way more times than that," Emmett says, shoving one of the mini pizza snacks in his mouth. "Although I've also been friends with you way longer than you've known her, so you may be onto something."
"Death and misfortune are following me," the redhead slumps onto the living room sofa and puts his head in his hands.
Emmett takes a seat across the couch and grabs the TV remote off the coffee table. He turns on the large flat screen and the news comes on. A clip of Bella shielding her face while being unwillingly carried on a gurney into the back of an ambulance plays while the anchor talks about the ongoing investigation into James.
"Alice could have been hurt, too. I should have been more aware of what was going on..." the law major laments.
"Yeah, we're good though, so chill on the angst," Emmett dismisses lightheartedly. "Did you get to ask her about that tape though?"
"No, I haven't seen her yet."
"Weird. Yeah, I'm curious what she's gonna say about it since she's never talked about her past before. It sure explains why she's so strange"
"No, it doesn't."
"Yeah, it does. She grew up on, like, permanent house arrest," Emmett asserts with a mouth full of bagel.
Aside from worrying about Bella and Alice, Edward spent all night researching James's father's case and how he was connected with his own father's work. He was charged with the murders of several people around the Pacific Northwest region over ten years ago, and a large majority of the incriminating photos left around James' studio were inherited from him. Like father like son.
"Want a bite?" Emmett asks, holding out his plate towards Edward in offering.
"No, I'm not hungry," he replies with a shake of his head. "Do you think I'm a bad boyfriend?"
"The worst," The football player beside him snorts. "You never take me out on dates or tell me I'm pretty."
Edward sighs loudly. "I don't know why I keep asking you for advice."
"'Cause I give great advice and I have a wealth of experience! If you think you're a crappy boyfriend and harbinger of death, then I feel like you should take this as a sign that you need to seize the day because life is short—"
"And we're all going to die and there's nothing I can do about it except try to live through this endless existence of misery and sin," Edward says bleakly. "Just like there was nothing I could do about my parents."
"Yikes. No, I meant more like have a drink, go get laid, and enjoy yourself because YOLO," Emmett corrects. "That's also not your fault though. We've been over this like a million times."
"I could have tried to talk with my father more after her funeral," the redhead rubs his temples irritably. "If I wasn't such a coward, he might still be alive."
Emmett pelts a Bagel Bite at Edward's head. "Shut up! It's not your fault, oh my god! Stop being such a sad sack!"
"The tomato sauce! You're going to stain Esme's couch!"
"Please, it's had worse things on it," Emmett says with a self-satisfied smirk. Ew.
The front door opens and Esme comes in carrying shopping bags and a bundle of fresh daisies. She slips off her sneakers at the door and turns the deadbolt. "I'm back! I picked up some croissants from Pike's Place if either of you wants one."
They both shake their heads
"Maybe later," Emmett says noncommittally.
Edward nods toward the stairs. "Alice probably will."
"Oh, she's home still?" Esme asks, walking into the kitchen to unpack her things.
"Yeah, she's been up there with Jasper all morning," the redhead remarks astringently. He can't fathom how she's still clearly interested in the lowlife. Even if he did help deescalate a potentially deadly incident the other night with James.
"Wait, he's here too?" Emmett chortles. "Good for her!"
Edward rolls his eyes. "Yeah, she's now babysitting him at all hours because he gets wasted whenever he's left alone for more than five seconds."
"That's not very nice, Edward," Esme scolds as she grabs a vase out of the cupboard and fills it with water. She drops the flowers in and arranges them thoughtfully. "What have you two been up to?"
"Edward thinks he's a beacon of death and destruction and I'm gonna go to the gym," Emmett announces.
"Oh my! Edward, that's not true!"
"It is. Everyone around me is dying or almost dying," he groans.
The brunette gives him a sympathetic look, and Edward knows she thinks he's being unreasonable. "All this doom and gloom and you aren't even channeling it into your music."
"I think the world will be fine without another sad composition about my melancholy."
"It makes you feel better, though. You're a true musician. You need that creative outlet," Esme reminds him.
She's right. He should play for even a few short minutes just to dissipate some of the anxiety plaguing him.
...
After a late lunch, Alice drives Jasper back to South Lake Union in Carlisle's Tesla.
She lets him pick the music for the drive over, and he puts on the first indie rock playlist he finds on Spotify. She trills along quietly to some of the more popular songs. He likes her singing voice. It's pretty.
"Is that your car?" Alice asks as they pull up to his street.
He looks in the direction she's pointing and sees his Honda parked in its usual spot on the side of the street, except all the windows are broken and the tires look like they've been slashed. Key marks drag across the side body and hood.
"Sure is," he says with a sigh. He's fairly certain he knows who did it, too.
Alice parks and they get out to assess the damage.
"Wow, that's..." she seems to be at a loss for words.
"Going to cost more to repair than the actual car did," he finishes. He'd be better off selling it for parts.
"What do you think happened?" she asks.
"Maria," he says without hesitation. He'd seen her do the same to Nettie and Lucy's cars when they had a petty falling out.
He checks the glove box and his favorite pair of Ray-Bans are gone. It's unclear if that was her too or if someone else had come along and pilfered them after the fact.
He sighs. "Do you want to come up? Peter and Charlotte should be home."
"Yeah, sure!" she chirps.
He leads the way up the front steps and into the building, Alice's heeled over-the-knee boots making tapping sounds on the pavement as she follows behind him.
When they get inside, his friends are sitting at the coffee table eating sandwiches and watching Game of Thrones.
Peter looks over right away and calls out in greeting. "Hey, Jazz! Did you see what she did to your car?"
"Yeah," Jasper replies morosely. "Did you talk to her?"
"No, thank god," Peter says delightedly. "Hey, Alice!"
"Hi," she says with a wave of her long nails, her tennis bracelet glinting in the light. "It's nice to see you again."
"Your shoes are cute," Charlotte says before taking another bite of her sandwich.
"Thanks! They're Balenciaga."
After exchanging pleasantries, Jasper excuses them and they go to his room.
Alice seems surprised. "Oh, this is your room," she says as if she's just realized something.
Who else's room would it be?
He nods. "It is."
"I've seen it before," she says, looking around curiously.
He'd ask her to elaborate, but she seems far too consumed in whatever stream of thought she's caught up in.
She sits down on the edge of his bed. "You're right, mine is way more comfortable."
He laughs, taking a seat in his desk chair. "Yeah, it's from Ikea."
"Seems like it," she teases. "Hey, question."
"Shoot."
She swings her legs idly. "You said you met Maria while you were in high school and then stopped talking to her last spring. How much of that were you guys together for?"
"None of it, technically," he says dryly. They'd never been an actual couple. He'd already told her that, though he's certain that's not what she's asking.
Alice stares back with her big, brown eyes and pleasant temperament, and he wonders if it will bother her if he tells the truth.
He'd have to be hopelessly drunk to give any nitty-gritty details, regardless, so he gives her the short answer. "It started towards the end of my junior year of high school, so that makes it about four years."
"That's a while," she says ambiguously.
"It is."
"I was just wondering," she shrugs. "I haven't been in a relationship like that before, so I'm just trying to understand why she'd do that to your car."
"I don't know. It's just how she is," he surmises, focused more on the first half of her statement. "You've dated before, haven't you?"
That's not exactly what he and Maria did, but he's also never heard Alice mention an ex of any kind. He feels like he shouldn't ask, but he also wants to know.
"No, I've been too busy for stuff like that," Alice says, slightly defensive in her tone. "It's kind of a downer when you can see the breakup happen before anything else does."
"I suppose it would be."
"Okay, I have to go. I have a dress fitting with Rose in a little bit," she says, hopping up from the bed.
She breezes over, giving him a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek. In their short-lived moment of proximity, he can smell her sweet, floral perfume.
He feels a bit lightheaded. Euphoric. He's charmed by her bright, exuberant energy like a moth drawn to a flame.
"I'll walk you to the car," he says, grabbing his coat from its place draped over the back of his desk chair and following her out. He doesn't want to see her go quite yet.