Edited by Stilldreaming85 and Banshee69

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Anthony Cullen.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Was the only sound coming from my father. He wasn't dead no, Carlisle Cullen was a hard man to kill. However, the doctors were not very optimistic about his recovery. They'd told my mother to prepare for the worst.

I didn't believe them at first; I mean what the hell did they know, right? This was my father we were talking about. Don Cullen was indestructible.

I let out a heavy sigh. Who was I trying to kid, no one was really indestructible. No one lived forever.

I won't say my father didn't deserve to die, lord knows he did... Lord. God himself would personally throw my father straight down to hell the moment if he ever tried to step foot through those pearly gates. That thought alone made me chuckle, causing my mother to glare at me from her husband's bedside.

"You need to go home," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You've been sitting here for a week, nothing is going to change if you leave for a few hours."

"NO!" she snapped.

"I'm not taking no for an answer. You need a change of clothes and a decent shower, not that little box they've got in here. You also need to get some fresh air."

"I am fine where I am, Anthony," she said.

"Don't be stubborn about this. What do you think he would say?"

"Anthony." She sighed, clearly frustrated and irritated. "Stop wasting your breath. I'm not going anywhere."

I hoped with everything in me that my father - by some miraculous force - would pull through, for no other reason than the sake of my mother. Although, after one week... he hadn't even twitched a finger.

My brother, he isn't as sympathetic about all of this as the rest of us. If the truth be told, I think he's more pissed-off because someone put a bullet in our father before he had the chance. I can't blame him for wanting that either. If the roles were reversed, I would want his blood on my hands as well.

There was a light knock at the door. One of our guards outside carefully poked his head in.

"The two detectives are here again, sir," he said.

"Let them in." I sighed.

"No," my mother said.

"We have to play nice," I reminded her.

Since my father's admission, they had been here everyday. A few times they've even camped-out outside his room.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Cullen," one of them said.

"Whatever it is you have to say, make it quick and get out," my mother said.

"Anthony Cullen," the other one said. This one was new, I'd never seen him before. "Alive after all. You even had us fooled."

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "The devil sent me back."

"Any progress on Mr. Cullen we should know about?"

"Do you people have no respect at all?" My mother said, standing up from her seat, getting right in the detective's face. It was a sight to behold.

"I apologize for any inconvenience we may be causing you, Mrs. Cullen, but we have a job to do. And for us to do our job we will need to question your husband as soon as he wakes up."

"As my son advised another one of your people the other day, we will contact you when my husband wakes up. Your presence is not needed here until then."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but that is not how we do things," the detective said.

"That is how we do things," my mother said. "If it is not up to your standards, then so be it. Now leave."

"Do you people not want to find out who did this to your husband, to your father?" The other one asked.

I ran my fingers through my hair. I was somewhat frustrated with them myself, but I knew I had to keep my calm and play nice. The detective on the left wanted to question not only my father, but my sister-in-law as well. No matter how much my brother tried to negotiate his way out of it, they had her on CCTV. They knew she'd been there and was a witness. My brother had been a little too late to cover that piece of evidence up.

Isabella had played her role well though. Marie was from Italy - who had attended an international school in Rome - thus explaining her perfect accent. They bought that part until one of the detectives claimed she looked very familiar, like he'd seen her before, but couldn't place her. Of course, he had to know of Isabella Swan; half of, if not all of the NYPD had been assigned to her case. Although, when this one made that statement my brother froze, and so had I. Isabella had also became visibly nervous; that only aroused their suspicion more. It had been my sister that saved all our asses, concluding the interview right then and there.

"Thank you for dropping by detectives," I said. "I am sure you can understand that - right now - mine and my family's priorities lie solely with my father's recovery."

"We absolutely understand that Mr. Cullen."

"Good. Now get the fuck out."

They didn't have any other choice and they knew it, much to their frustration. They were just barely out the door when one of them stopped and turned back around.

"Oh, Mr. Cullen, how is your sister-in-law by the way?" he asked. "I hope she is doing well."

"Now that really is none of your fucking concern," I said.

"Hmm, do tell your brother that we will be in touch. I will be needing to speak with her again."

~MINY~

"He knows," my brother said, taking another swig of his drink. "He knows she's the Isabella Swan."

"I have someone pulling up the names of everyone that was on her case," I said.

"And?"

"I'm waiting for him to get back to me."

"He knows, I'm telling you, he fucking knows something about her," my brother said. I was surprised he was still able to speak so clearly considering he'd finished a bottle of scotch by himself. He had been drowning his problems all night in that bottle. It's fair to say this past week has made him a little paranoid. Everyone and everything was suspicious to him.

"Don't worry, brother, I got this," I said. The truth was I just wanted to get my hands dirty again. It had been a long time since I had been included in any of the fun.

"How about we get you to bed and let that hot, little wife of yours deal with your drunken ass."

I put one of his arms over my shoulders and helped him to his feet. I stumbled with him along the hallway. I tell you what, my brother was heavier than he looked. He leaned all of his weight onto me.

I was thankful when we had finally reached his door. I punched his code into the keypad, waiting for the green light. I knew I should've knocked before I opened the door. I knew Isabella was in there; however, there was a wicked part of me that was hoping to catch her in a compromising position.

"What did you do to him?" She asked, jumping up to her feet.

I stumbled inside with my brother and let him fall down onto the bed.

"I didn't make him drink as much as he did," I said.

"Did you think of stopping him before he got in this state?"

"Do I look like his mother, or his wife?"

"Get out, Anthony," she said, pointing towards the open door.

I put my hands over my heart and pouted, pretending to be hurt. "You're hurting my feelings here little lamb. I thought you would want me to stay."

"Anthony, please leave," she said again, trying to sound firm. However, she and I both knew that that would not work on me.

On the bed, my brother, let out an unusual groan and rolled onto his back.

"Should he be on his back? What if he throws up?"

"He's your train wreck to deal with. I don't do vomit."

"Anthony, please. Can you at least help me roll him onto his side?" she asked.

"Oh, now you need my help? I thought you wanted me to leave?"

"Seriously, he's heavy," she moaned.

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, rubbing my shoulder. "How about me and you get out of here for a little while?" I asked as I helped her roll Edward onto his side.

"Good night, Anthony."

"I'm serious. Aren't you tired of being cooped up in here, breathing in this shitty conditioned air?"

"Your brother is in an alcoholic coma, and you want me to leave him like this to go out with you?" she asked, glaring at me.

"Why not, he did it to himself after all. Neither of us got him drunk."

"You are the worst kind of person, Anthony."

"The best of the worst." I winked. "Come on, let's get you out of here for the night."

"Out in the city? We're supposed to be on lockdown and you want to go out?"

"You'll be with me, Isabella. Do you think I would let anything happen to you?"

"No!"

"Good, go grab some shoes and coat."

"No, I meant no, I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Would you rather stay here and clean-up his vomit?" I asked, pointing to my brother.

"Get out," she said, not giving in.

I ignored her and walked across the room and into the walk-in closet.

"What are you doing?" she asked, hot on my trail.

I grabbed a pair of shoes and coat for her and tucked them under one arm. With my free hand, I grabbed one of hers and pulled her along beside me.

"What the hell are you doing? Let go of me!" she yelled.

"Come on now, princess, I'm springing you from this joint."

"Anthony, stop, please," she pled with me as she attempted to free herself.

I pushed her out of the room, and pulled the door closed behind us.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" she continued to yell. "Garrett!"

I turned my head enough to see Garrett jogging towards her with his hand in his pocket and a panicked look on his face.

"Don't even think about it, Garrett," I said over my shoulder.

Isabella looked at Garrett and back at me before letting out a long sigh. She had lost the battle and she knew it. Garrett was powerless to help her while I had her.

"Ok, fine, I'll go with you, but he's coming with us," she said, taking her shoes and coat from me.

"Fine," I finally said. She was afraid to be alone with me and well, I couldn't blame her for that. But haven't I done enough to prove I was not going to hurt her again?

I snapped my fingers at Garrett, telling him to move it. I didn't understand her attachment to him. He was more of a friend to her than a guard. Maybe she felt something for him, something more than she knew better than to feel, and maybe he did her as well. He looked at her differently. I could not put my finger on it, but there was something there. I couldn't be the only one to notice this? Had my brother not picked up on it, at all?

"Stop staring at him like that," Isabella said, drawing my attention back to the present.

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to kill him."

"And what if I am?" I asked, amused as her anger grew.

"Are we going to stand here all night, or are we actually going somewhere?"

"Not so concerned about your husband's well-being now? So eager to escape? I might not bring you back, you know?" I joked, although she had found no humor in my words.

"Fuck you," she said.

"You only have to ask me once," I said.

"You're disgusting."

"The worst, I know."

She scoffed as she pushed past me and began walking alongside Garrett.

The air outside was ice-cold and it assaulted me immediately. I had made sure Isabella was dressed warmly, but I'd forgotten my own coat.

I let Garrett drive us, as it would give me the perfect opportunity to sit next to my sister-in-law in the back and make her uncomfortable. I knew being this close to me in a closed and dark space made her squeamish, and that was too good of an opportunity to pass up.