Chapter Four

The bombshell Kaure dropped about Edward hasn't had a chance to settle when I make my way up the stairs to our landing. Outside the apartment, I slump against the wall to give the cogs in my brain time to fall into some sort of alignment. On the other side of the door, Angie and Elliot will no doubt be waiting to give me a third-degree grilling. They'll want to know why I rushed out of the apartment without an explanation and with an apple in my hand. Being impulsive like that is so at odds with my usual behavior.

In my haste to cross the street to confront the WGA who the doctor claims is his son, and to get out of the apartment before Angie or Elliot questioned me about what was going on, I'd left my key on the bed. Before knocking to be let back in though, I'll have to get my story straight. My instincts are telling me not to divulge too much at this stage until I've taken time to absorb what I'd learned from Doctor Cullen and Kaure. Inventing a story plausible enough to convince Angie bothers me though? There's no way I want to scare her, but she has a right to know that Edward got into our apartment through the kitchen window? Also, that I'd been in Kaure's crazy living room, where I'd heard her unbelievable but still troubling warning that Edward is either The Devil or A Devil or just a Demon? (Just a demon!) The difference between 'the' and 'a' could be lost translation but would make all the difference. That's if I believe her of course.

Being totally mercenary though, my number one concern if I relate the story truthfully is that Angie will freak out and get straight on to her over-protective parents. More than likely, they would be on the first flight to New York which could jeopardize my living arrangements. I have to say something to her though. But what? I don't want to lie to her, especially if my issues with Edward escalate in the future. If I'm completely honest about what he did, the repercussions from dropping into my explanation the fact that living across the street is a cat burglar who might possibly be The Devil could be seismic.

After taking a few minutes to consider my story I decided a half-truth would be best. With an explanation in mind, I bang on the door. Almost immediately Angie flings it open.

"What the fuck's going on, Bells?"

"I'll tell you when you let me in. Have you made coffee? I'm desperate."

"Yep. Elliot's ordered Grubhub as well. Chinese okay?"

"Awesome. Let me get my coat off first. Nothing serious has happened, so don't panic, alright?"

Angie snorts as though she doesn't believe me. I dash into my room still with the apple in my hand. I'd deal with that later.

After discarding my coat and boots I pull on my cozy slipper socks – a Christmas present from Dad. Best gift ever. Next off, my ponytail band so I can ruffle up my hair. Angie says I look like Hermione from the early Harry Potters when my hair isn't tied back. Frankly, I'd be delighted to be compared to Emma W now – she's a goddess in looks and everything else.

After a few deep breaths followed by a 'you can do this,' I slide my way into the living room on my slipper socks. Angie and Elliot are in their usual place, cuddled on the sofa. I flop in the armchair and take a sip of coffee.

"Spill then," Angie whines. "We've been imagining all sorts of weird scenarios."

"It's nothing I can't handle," I respond in as light-hearted a voice as I can muster only my voice actually comes out high-pitched. I make out the coffee is at fault by pointing at the mug. I cough and carry on.

"Remember I told you about the guy who lives above the Community Clinic. The one I saw shouting at Doctor Cullen in the middle of the night last September?"

"Yeah. The good-looking dude who's a bit weird. What about him?" Angie says with a grin. I can almost hear her brain working. She's already presumed I've hooked up with him.

"He followed me to work this morning. I spotted him hanging around outside the bookstore. A few hours later, he followed me when I went to Carlo's on my break. He walked past the shop eating an apple not long after and left the same apple outside the apartment door, which means he'd got into the building somehow. I went over there to have it out with him."

"Are you serious, Bella?"

Angie pulls herself out of Elliot's arms to sit upright. "What the fuck happened then?"

Her reaction is as I expected, but I can't make out whether she's genuinely angry or relishing the impending drama. Angie says the F word a lot so that's no indication either. I have to downplay what's happened or she'll be speed dialing her mom.

"Not a lot because he wasn't there. I spoke to Doctor Cullen and found out that this guy is his son. The Doctor said Edward, that's his name, left New York this afternoon and doesn't know when he'll be back. He said he'll have a word with him when he calls."

"Do you believe he's stalking you then?" Elliot asks.

"Sort of. I'm not freaked out though - I don't think he'll do me any harm."

Angie stares at me with her mouth open. "Are you kidding me?" she spits. "I'd be freaked out if it was me. I'd be fucking pissed as well."

"I am pissed, only about the apple though. Until that happened I presumed he was shy. Possibly working up the nerve to talk to me."

Angie's eyes roll. She's not convinced. To be honest, I wouldn't be either.

"So, what did Doctor Cullen say when you told him where you found the apple?" Elliot asks. I guess he's thinking about the security of the apartment block and Angie's security most of all.

"Nothing much. I really didn't want to press him. He looked ashen, like a dead body. His face was colorless. I asked him if he was okay."

Elliot laughs. I knew he would. "Cullen's a doctor. What did he say?"

"He admitted he was exhausted. He said there's a 'flu bug in the city and that he and his wife have been working non-stop."

"A 'flu bug!' Elliot exclaims and looks at Angie. "Shit!"

"What?" I respond. This isn't the reaction I expected.

Elliot pulls himself up from his slumped position to sit next to Angie who mirrors his look of concern. "Don't you watch the news, Bella? The President has stopped all flights from China because there's a nasty 'flu virus over there. My father says there's a good chance it could be here already."

"How nasty?" I ask. I'd heard about the virus in China of course but hadn't paid much attention. China is on the other side of the world.

"Nasty nasty," Angie replies. "The Chinese are being very secretive about the mortality rate but they've admitted that at the moment there's no way to treat it. Elliot says we should all be wearing masks like they do in the Far East."

"They're really worried about it in Hong Kong," Elliot adds. "Mom called my gran yesterday to check she's okay. Gran said all movement between towns and cities has been banned for a while. Lots of folks are angry. Last month Hong Kong residents couldn't travel outside their districts to celebrate Chinese New Year."

"Surely they'll be able to stop it though?" I reply. "We've got great scientists and doctors in the United States."

"Let's hope so," Elliot replies as he hauls himself off the sofa. His cell phone had beeped while we were talking.

"Chinese is downstairs. We got you your usual. Hope that's okay?"

"Great," I reply, referring not only to my impending Singapore Noodles feast. My explanation had been believed. I hadn't expected lying to be so easy.

The rest of the evening goes well. My noodles are awesome and better still, Angie had somehow managed to acquire two bottles of Prosecco, even though she's underage. It helps to know the right people in the city I guess. Edward isn't mentioned after that. Apart from Angie giving me a funny look every now and again, I take this as confirmation I've got away with covering up Edward's misdemeanor. I still feel guilty keeping both of them in the dark especially as the more I think about what he's done, the more his behavior unsettles me. Again I asked myself, why now?

Most Saturdays, the three of us would go out to meet up with college friends after eating, but the wind has picked up and fat flakes of snow are zipping past the window. Even though we're toasty warm inside the apartment, we can guess how bitterly cold the streets are. Instead, we spend the rest of Saturday night in the company of Netflix. I have much to think about but instead, I enjoy their company and the brainless movie we're watching. When the movie ends, Elliot searches Netflix for another one to watch. Stress over what's happened has exhausted me. Two glasses of fizz are enough to make my head swim. I say goodnight and get ready for bed.

Before switching out the light, I have to get rid of the apple. Instead of meekly disposing of it in the bin, I push the kitchen window open and let it drop into the courtyard below. Maybe the rats can make a meal of it.

"From one rat to another," I say out loud as the apple disappears and then shake my head. Do I really consider Edward to be a rat? After speaking to Doctor Cullen I've been having second thoughts. If anything he looked bewildered by the apple. I wonder then what his wife would say about Edward's behavior?

It occurs to me that I've never seen Esme Cullen other than at her window. From the fleeting glances I've had of her, I can tell she's a very beautiful woman. Shoulder-length auburn hair and good bone structure. Maybe that's where Edward gets his looks from? Doctor Cullen is handsome from a distance, but close up he looks ill and much too young to be Edward's father. Maybe he's his step-father? The more I think of them as a family group, the more I am coming to the conclusion that they are definitely unusual.

While I'm pulling off my slipper-socks, I recall Dad's warning that New York attracts strange people, which is one of the two reasons I'd been so desperate to come here. From almost as far back as I can remember, I've felt different from my contemporaries in school. I'd never felt the urge to be part of the crowd or to fit in, or be satisfied with my place in society. I know this might sound big-headed or even childish, but when I'd matured enough to seriously consider my future, the driving force I've felt growing inside me year on year has convinced me that a stellar life will be my future. At first, this seemed at odds with my desire not to be in the spotlight and it still does to a certain extent. How I achieve this stellar life is still unclear, but the day I accepted that I would have to leave small-town America to live in a big city to fulfill my 'destiny,' I would mark on my calendar as the day when Bella Swan grew up.

"You've got an old head on young shoulders," my high school friend, Mike, used to say whenever I talked to him about my ambition to study in New York. We got on well because in some ways we were similar. Neither of us was tempted to drink alcohol. We never smoked, or used drugs, or took part in anything rebellious. Like me, he had never considered heading down the dating path either. Unlike me though, he stayed close to home after high school and chose to attend college in Seattle.

Maybe I'm reading too much into not feeling or behaving like an average teenage girl, but there is something deep inside of my psyche that makes me believe that I'm not average. Not 'normal.' I've never been able to put my finger on why I think this way, only I do. I thought if I came to New York my weirdness would ensure I didn't stand out. I've succeeded in that respect, at least until now. This feeling though has got worse over the last few months so much so that I'm starting to believe I'm paranoid.

Before turning the light out, I push the blind to one side to check out Edward's windows again. Still black and lifeless, so Doctor Cullen had most likely told me the truth when he said Edward had left the city. The lights in the clinic are still on. Unusual for ten-thirty on a Saturday night. Maybe the virus really has got to New York and people are getting sick. Should I be worried? Not yet, but I decide to call Mom and Dad sometime tomorrow to check that they're okay.

Even though I'm shattered, with the light out and my eyes closed, I still can't switch off. Weirdly, I can sense Edward in the room, watching me. I don't believe in ghosts, or devils for that matter, but I feel a presence by the nightstand. I turn my head and open one eye – nothing. "Don't be stupid, Bella," I mutter and pull my quilt over my head. My imagination has understandably moved into overdrive no doubt courtesy of the Prosecco, and being more than a little stressed.

Because of not being on my own this evening, I haven't had a moment to go over the events of the day. Even while I walked home from the bookstore, I'd been on edge because Edward could've been lurking in a doorway or down an alley. This is the first moment I've had where I could forensically dissect everything that's happened to me. Hiding under my quilt from an allegedly demonic neighborhood stalker, I have to stop myself from allowing my imagination to venture into Crazy Town.

When Edward got into the apartment, had he sat on my bed when he left the apple on the nightstand? Had he been curious and opened drawers, or looked through my closet? Had he left anything else behind – something I'd missed, like a note? I'd have to check or I wouldn't get any sleep. I flick the light on again and swing my legs out from under the quilt.

Trying not to make a noise or Angie will wonder what the hell I'm up to, I go through each drawer and every inch of my closet including the pockets of my clothes. I can't find anything that wasn't there this morning and nothing seems out of place. I'm a tidy person so I'd know if anything had been moved or removed. Defeated, I roll under the quilt again. I still can't settle.

Kaure's warning comes back to me and the animated conversation that followed. She'd gripped my jacket and ordered me to stay away from him and the rest of the family and then elaborated about 'their kind' roaming the forests when she was a child. When I asked her what she meant by 'their kind', she just shook her head and told me I didn't need to know, only that there were 'others like them' in the city.

If I hadn't seen the photographs in the Daily Graphic I could easily dismiss Kaure's assertions as the ravings of someone who inhales too much wacky baccy, or that she'd been overcome by the pungent incense that burns next to her chair. But the passion in her voice added to my suspicions about Edward and the rest of the family, indicate there could be a grain of truth in her story. I know I won't rest until I find out more, either from her or ... well that would be up to me.

Where should I start looking though? The college library would be the best place. Other newspapers of the time could have covered the story about the falling child as well as The Daily Graphic. Maybe they could throw some light on the mystery man.

The actual mechanics of catching a child falling from a high window occurs to me then. What sort of strength would this require? Could it be possible for the man in the photo, or a man with Edward's physique, to actually achieve this feat? Edward is definitely tall, like the guy in the photo, but neither guy looks particularly buff. I recall studying the velocity of falling objects in high school physics, but I have no idea what the answer could be. I have to find out or this will keep me awake for hours.

Resorting to Google on my cell phone, I ask, 'Could an adult male catch a heavy object falling from an 18th-floor window?' After fine-tuning my query to a more general question, the answer pops up as an emphatic no. Anybody who attempted to catch anything heavier than a book would only break the object's fall and would probably end up with broken limbs. A person of any size would kill the catcher and the faller would end up dead anyway.

"This is crazy," I whisper as I fall back onto my pillow. Everything about the 1923 event screams 'unnatural' to me because this proves that what the 5th Avenue guy did is impossible. Could this be why he left the scene before anyone questioned how he did it?

I want to laugh out loud because whether or not Edward is the guy in the pictures, the photographer managed to catch an image of a real-life Superman. No wonder the doorman said, 'Lord Jesus, I witnessed a miracle.'

Could this be what Kaure meant by 'his kind'. Were the people she talked about super-human? Examples of an advanced species that has evolved through natural selection? Darwin's Origin of Species which documents how animals and humans change to adapt to a new environment would answer that question with a 'yes,' but this type of progress in the human species would take thousands of years.

My dark bedroom suddenly becomes darker. I know without checking that the clinic lights have been switched off. The clock says 10.59. I watch the numbers on the digital display click over to eleven. My room seems unusually quiet. At night the 24-hour traffic on Lexington and 2nd Avenue can be easily heard. Tonight there are no blaring horns, no constant hum of cars, trucks, or buses jostling their way along the permanently busy streets. Maybe the citizens and tourists in New York have also had a Netflix night-in because of the weather? Or could concern about the virus be the reason that has kept folks away from the crowded bars and buzzing nightclubs the city is famous for? I pull my quilt over my head again and close my eyes. I don't remember much after that.

Work the next day passes uneventfully, apart from my surprise when I switch on the computer. There are pages of email inquiries about medical books, especially about home remedies. This proves to me that New Yorkers are definitely suffering from a case of virus jitters.

I mention the virus to Joseph. He shrugs his shoulders and says that A: it is nothing to worry about, and B: the virus is good for business, adding that he has excellent health insurance so he doesn't need to be concerned. "Nothing that a course of well-aimed antibiotics won't sort out," he declares smugly. I don't bother to point out that antibiotics kill bacteria. They are totally ineffective against viruses.

On my way home, I spot two people with their mouths and noses covered by masks, and not I'd guess because of the cold. When I get in, I log onto the New York Times to see what their take on the virus is today. The online headlines only report a story of an American citizen who had tragically died of it in a place called Wuhan the previous day.

Angie and Elliot are out when I get home. They'd left a note to say they would be back at five with the groceries. This gives me time to call Mom and Dad to check they're aware of the virus.

I call Dad first. He's the easiest to talk to and he's always pleased to hear from me. I catch him at home watching sports. He obviously has company as there are guys yelling at the TV in the background. One sounds like Billy Black, so I presume Jake will be there as well. Dad has become the most popular guy in the neighborhood since he won a giant TV in a police raffle. When the Mariners are playing, there is standing room only in his living room. I'm pleased he has company though. I still feel guilty about choosing a far-away college which means I can't go home for the weekend when I feel like it. Like Mike, most of my high school classmates traveled no further than Seattle or Portland to study and are able to return for family occasions and public holidays.

"Hey, Dad," I say when he answers.

"Hi, Bells. Give me a minute to get to the kitchen and away from the noise."

I can hear him huff and puff as he hauls himself out of his Lazy Boy, followed by the kitchen door closing before he comes back on again.

"Sorry about that, Bella. I've got Billy and Jake and a couple of other guys from the Rez here."

"What are you watching? There's no decent sport in February, apart from Ice Hockey which you hate."

"English Soccer. Jake and Billy are really into that now. It fills the gap between the Mariners and Seahawks seasons. It's a bit slow but I'm getting used to it."

"Great, Dad. I'm just checking you're okay? We're hearing rumors of a nasty virus heading our way from China."

"Yep, I'm fine and I've heard about it. No need to worry though. I'm sure it won't reach as far as our sleepy peninsula. The Governor has had some sort of message from the CDC to say it could get to the big cities in the US soon. Until that happens, I'm not concerned. Have you spoken to your mom?"

"I'll call her now. She won't listen to me though."

"Don't lose any sleep about Renee, Bella. Any virus that enters her bloodstream would have to check into rehab afterward."

"Dad!"

After I'd told him about my week and he told me about his, I hung up. I must admit I laughed afterward at his comment about Mom. She does drink way too much than is good for her, but it's her life. I'm not going to interfere. I try calling her but as usual, get her voicemail. I don't bother leaving a message.

My cell shows five o'clock so I head to the kitchen to put the coffee on ready for Angie and Elliot's arrival. While I'm washing out the filter, the street door buzzer buzzes meaning Angie has forgotten the new security code already. Before I have the chance to make a snarky comment down the communicator along the lines of 'forgetting your head if it wasn't screwed on,' a guy's voice says, "Delivery here for Bella Swan."

I haven't ordered online lately. It's February 10th - too early for Valentine's, not that I expect to receive anything. Maybe Mom has sent me something? She occasionally sends me little gifts following her trips to Cancun or The Bahamas. She hasn't been away lately as far as I know so I discount that explanation.

"Okay, I'm coming down," I reply and head out the door.

Angie and Elliot are on the opposite side of the street when the UPS driver hands me a small cardboard package, no bigger than a DVD. I hold the door open for them even though it's freezing.

"What's that?" Angie asks.

"No idea," I mumble while I search for evidence of who'd sent it on the outside. My name and address have been hand-written underneath the '24 hour Urgent Delivery' sticker in the top right-hand corner. There are no clues to where it has come from.

While Elliot puts the groceries away, I take the package into my room to open it in private. I'll admit to being curious and excited as this definitely has not come from Mom. She always puts Ms. Isabella Swan on envelopes rather than Miss Bella Swan. My hands are visibly shaking with excitement by the time I've ripped the packaging apart.

A handwritten letter falls onto my lap plus a piece of stiff white cloth. I presume someone has sent me a handkerchief until I spot loops tucked inside the folded material.

"Who the hell is sending me a mask?" I say out loud.

I don't read the letter from the top. I look first at who signed it.

"Holy Shit! Edward," I say out loud again, and then read his exquisitely perfect script.

Dear Miss Swan,

I am remorseful that I've angered you. That was not my intention. I now realize what an inane prank it was to leave the apple in your room. I sincerely apologize if my behavior made you feel at all uncomfortable. I will make a point of calling on you so I can apologize in person when I am next in New York.

I have been working up the courage to talk to you, to apologize for being so rude when we nearly bumped into one another some months ago. I was having a bad day, which is no excuse for my appalling manners. Please forgive me.

You may wonder why I have enclosed the mask. Despite assurances in the media that the virus in China is nothing to be worried about, my father is convinced that a pandemic is on the way. Please persuade your family and friends to take the situation seriously. The last pandemic in 1918 wiped out millions of people. The poor souls who lived in big cities like New York and Chicago were the worst affected.

Your college may be obliged to close soon, and so will the bookstore, and all other non-essential businesses. If I were you, I would leave the city now. I have a feeling though that you will choose to stay. My impression is that curiosity will compel you to witness what is about to happen.

Once again, I apologize if I upset or angered you.

Yours in good faith,

Edward Cullen

I read the letter three times. First, to absorb what he had written. The second, to admire the beautiful cursive script he used. Third, to analyze his strange, old-fashioned choice of words. My whole body tingles when I realize what I could be holding in my hand. This could be more evidence that Edward Cullen has been around for a long time. Nobody writes or speaks like this anymore.

And then something else occurs to me.

If Edward had been alive in 1923, this would mean that five years before he saved the falling child, Edward had experienced the horror of the pandemic of 1918. Could this be why he's sent me a mask and is urging me to take the virus seriously? Is Edward warning me that history could be repeating itself? Has he already lived through what he could foresee happening again in 2020? By writing this letter and using outdated expressions, could he be telling me in the only way possible without disclosing his secret, that he had experienced Spanish 'Flu, and that he really does know what the future holds?

For the first time since becoming intrigued by the mystery surrounding Edward Cullen, I genuinely believe rather than imagine that he has an extraordinary story to tell. This letter, added to how he caught a falling child and walked away without injury, cannot be a coincidence. More importantly for myself though, for the first time since the virus became newsworthy, I feel genuinely concerned.

So he's apologized, in writing. Edward must feel confident that Bella won't go to the police which she would be entitled to do. Will this letter change her mind about him. Is he still a WGA in her eyes? He's also warned her about the oncoming pandemic, so maybe he's getting his information from somewhere. (I can hear you guys shouting a name beginning with A).

Bella's finally worked out that the 5th Avenue guy couldn't have physically done what he did. What is he though - that will be her next question.

As I mentioned before, I will be tracking how the virus impacted Bella in the first months of the outbreak, but apart from mask-wearing, no political or other opinions will be voiced.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, and I'm loving all the guesses about where this is heading.

See you on Saturday when some old friends will make their first appearance,

Joan x