Tangled Up In The Mainline

by shellyduran

After losing her scholarship, Bella returns home to Block Island for the busy tourist season, hoping to raise enough money to pay her tuition. She had always listened to her father's warning about the transient fishermen that drift in and out of the port, until she saw a pair of intense green eyes watching her from under unruly bronze hair. AH, AU, ExB

11. Chapter 10 The Long Haul

Beta- StacyO72 – She is more than an editor, she is practically a co-writer. The end of this chapter is so much better than the original version because of her inspiration

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

Days of innocence

Are behind me

All I've left is

My adult life

Lots of time left

Left to move up

Trust the ceiling

Trust the process- Trust The Process, John Taylor (from Feelings Are Good and Other Lies Album)

A/N - Just a quick reminder, if you don't want to read about fish being killed, don't read this story.

Ch. 10 The Long Haul

"Mako!"

The wind carries the sound of Emmett's deep voice across the deck. Rose lets out a whoop. We have already hauled back approximately four hundred hooks with a yield of seven albacore tuna and sixteen swords, including two double markers. A marker is a swordfish that weighs at least one hundred pounds so the double markers are over two hundred each. With sword, the bigger the fish, the better the price. The mako is the first shark we've had on the line today, unlike the last set when the colder water put us in the middle of a school of blue dogs. Those small sharks are worthless to us but Rose tagged four hundred as part of her research for the NMFS. If Rose wasn't here, we would keep the mako since its steaks are valuable, although not worth as much as sword or tuna. We haul it aboard with a winch attached to the line rather than with the gaff poles. The poles pierce the skin and could damage the fish, which normally wouldn't be a concern if we were killing it. The mako is long but lean.

"It's a female!" I hear Rose call out. I have no idea how she is so sure. I must say so under my breath because Jasper answers me. "It doesn't have claspers."

"It doesn't have what?"

"Claspers- Shark cock." He imitates Rose's New England accent so that the two words rhyme.

"Yeah, they got two dicks." Emmett offers.

"Just like this boat." Rose counters, looking pointedly at Emmett and Jasper.

"Hey, why me?" Jasper whines.

"For making fun of my accent." Rose replies as she readies the large needle that will attach the special satellite tag to the fish's dorsal fin.

Under my breath I whisper, "Good thing she doesn't know you screwed her sister."

Jasper's suntanned face pales as he mouths back to me "Alice?"

I nod. I can't help but smirk. I knew Jasper didn't know they were related.

Before Jasper can reply, the shark is released from the winch and begins thrashing on the deck in front of me.

"Richie! Watch the mouth!"

I back up as it tries to attack me with its multiple rows of teeth. My childhood memories of slicing my finger on the jaw of the Mako Carlisle had sent are enough for me to listen without hesitation. I know how sharp those teeth are.

Emmett comes up behind the shark and sits on it cowboy style while Jasper grabs hold of the tail. I hurry over beside Jasper and put my hands on the beast's back. We struggle to hold it still.

"Get the fuck off my shark!" Rose yells at Emmett. "It's not some bucking bronco at a country western bar, you fucking hick!"

"No, it's a lot fucking stronger and its teeth are much fucking sharper. You want me off, then you better get that goddamn tag in!" Emmett yells back. Jasper and I both collapse onto the deck to better hold the shark down as it continues to fight.

Emmett gives the mako a good tap on the head with the palm of his hand and it immediately calms.

"Now!" He calls to Rose.

She inserts the injection needle and tags the shark. Rose had previously explained that the experimental GPS monitor will provide real-time information about the shark's migration patterns. Emmett taps the head one more time before he puts his hand in the danger zone and swiftly removes the circle hook from the shark's mouth. One flick of its head and Emmett could easily lose a finger.

In seconds, we've got the mako back in the water. I sigh with relief. I definitely don't like sharks. I've seen enough marine life in the past two months to make me doubt I'll ever be able to swim in an ocean again. There are some scary monsters in the water.

There is no time to catch our breath. Carlisle has already begun hauling back the next fish. We work feverishly. When the hooks are empty, we remove them as quickly as possible to get to the next. When the line is heavy, signaling a fish, we grab our gaffs and haul whatever it is out of the Atlantic. So far, in three trips I've seen plenty of sword, tuna, and sharks. In addition, there is the by-catch. Some like mahi-mahi and escolar, are edible species worth keeping. Others, like sea turtles and albatross are the reasons why environmental groups don't like longlining. The turtles almost always live, the birds usually don't. Carlisle has taken every precaution there is to avoid killing untargeted species. We use circle hooks instead of J hooks, we set at sunset so birds are less attracted to the bait, and we monitor water temps to stay away from unwanted species. I've learned a lot about fishing, more than I ever thought possible. The amazing thing is although my knowledge has increased dramatically, I still know so little.

"Ted! I need a new saw!"

I look over to where Carlisle is heading and gutting a sword. His dark orange oilers are covered in blood and fish guts. I quickly grab a new saw from where they are neatly hanging against the wheelhouse wall, make my way across the blood splattered deck and hand it to him. I threw up the first time I saw Carlisle like this. I tried to play it off as sea-sickness but I don't think I fooled anyone. Before I joined the crew, I hadn't seen anything gorier than an uncooked chicken in real life. I had been so sheltered. Since then, I had seen Jasper, Emmett, and Carlisle each decapitate living creatures in front of me. I had yet to do it myself. I had no skills with sharp weapons. This was the part that wasn't shown on those reality shows: the part where a saw slices the head off a fish still taking its last gasping breaths. They are all fast and efficient when they kill. It is brutal, raw, and yet also honest. They say fishing is the second oldest profession. Despite the joke, there's a deep truth to the words. Fishing is the last link to our origins as hunters/gathers. All other aspects of civilization have been tamed. We grow our food, we raise our livestock. Sure, aquaculture exists, but it's not on the same scale. If you want a tuna, you have to catch it.

I return to my position where the door has been removed from the starboard railing. Emmett stands a few feet away near a smaller winch that directs the mainline once it reaches the deck. He stops the super spool with a handheld controller each time Jasper and I haul up another fish. Rose has a gaff in hand and is helping with getting them on the deck. She has done nothing but impress us all. Having an observer that grew up on boats is a big advantage. She is our fifth man, so to speak, although from the way Emmett keeps checking out her ass, there is no mistaking her gender. I don't know what he can actually see. She is wearing the same oil gear we all wear: dark orange overalls secured by black suspenders with Grunden's printed in gray. The pants are so thick they pretty much stand up on their own. They are the opposite of body hugging. Unless he has x-ray vision, he can't see a thing. Maybe, he's really Superman hiding out on a fishing boat like Henry Cavill in the latest movie. I snort to myself, an image of Emmett in tights entering my thoughts.

Jasper looks at me curiously and I just shrug. There's no more time for conversation as an oddly shaped fish breaks the surface, reeled in by our mainline.

"Holy Shit!" Rose exclaims.

The fish is round, with a diameter of about three feet. It is an opalescent color, I'm sure a girl could think of the right shade, but to me it's just a weird orange. There are small white dots over the entire body. It has fins in the usual places: one on each side, one on top that extends back to the tail, along with another underneath. It has large round eyes that are already flat, indicating the fish is dead on the line.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Moonfish!"

"Sunfish!"

Jasper and Emmett simultaneously call out.

"Which one?" I ask confused as they stare at each other, ready to argue yet again. I've learned that, on board, they are only argue about insignificant shit. Otherwise, the two work in tandem, each almost anticipating where the other needs to be. The night at the bar, Carlisle told the other fishermen that Jasper and Emmett were good men to have offshore. Bella's dad explained that some guys are screw-ups on land but out here, they are in their element. I know now what that means. On board, listening to the guys has saved me from making potentially deadly mistakes more than once yet on land neither seemed to be able to function.

"It's an Opah." Rose calls out, grabbing her cell phone from under her oilers to take pictures. "It's gorgeous."

"Oprah?" I can't help but think of the famous talk show host.

"OPAH! O-p-a-h!" Rose huffs and enunciates each letter. "Depending on where you're from it's called either a moonfish or a sunfish or even Jerusalem haddock. We don't often see them this far north. It must have come up in the Gulf Stream."

"Uma!" Carlisle calls back. We all just look at him.

"You know… Oprah…. Uma?" He shakes his head and says something about us being too young.

"I just call 'em tasty." Emmett chimes in. "They're damn good eatin'."

"So good, that it will be worth selling." Carlisle adds. He has finished gutting the previous fish and stacked it with the others needing to go into the hold.

Jasper and I work together to remove the circle hook from the fish's mouth and bring it over to where Carlisle is working on deck.

"That one gets sold whole. Some restaurants like to display it before they cook it." He indicates we should put it with the other fish he has already finished gutting.

The time flies by and soon the last hi-flyer is brought aboard. We end up with almost forty fish, a tremendous catch for one set, and everyone is in a good mood. Rose has volunteered to cook tonight so Jasper, Emmett and I work together to pack the fish in the hold. We fill the gutted stomachs with saltwater ice, which stays colder than regular ice, and then carefully arrange the fish in layers of more ice in each hold compartment, or pen. Pen boards, thick wood slats, are fit into grooves at the front of each compartment to prevent the contents from moving. A pen must mirror the one across from it. From the very first set, Emmett, Jasper, and Carlisle have all explained to me the importance of keeping the weight in the hold evenly distributed. If the catch in the hold shifts, it causes the boat to list and even in calm seas, a listing boat is susceptible to sinking. One rogue wave would be enough to roll and sink it in a matter of minutes.

"Oh baby, that smells fan-fucking-tastic!" Emmett shouts out as we crowd around the round table in our quarters.

"You call me baby and you'll be eating gurry instead of spaghetti." Rose's words bring him down a notch. The threat of being accused of sexually harassing a NMFS observer has him paranoid.

"I didn't me you specifically, it was just a general baby, you know like oh man or oh boy. Yeah, I meant oh boy." Emmett backtracks.

Rose shoots him a glare than laughs. "Relax, Mayberry. I knew that."

Emmett puffs out his chest. "I'm from Tennessee, not North Carolina."

"No difference." Rose retorts as the rest of us fill our plates. I'm starved and it does smell delicious. We all tell her so before we dig in. Emmett returns to their conversation after a few big bites.

"Big difference. I grew up in Gatlinburg, right on the edge of the Great Smoky Mountains."

"So you're a coal miner's daughter or son. Sing it for me Lorenzo Lynn." Rose doesn't try to hide the condescending tone in her voice.

"That just shows your ignorance. There isn't any coal mining anywhere near Gatlinburg anymore. The last person in my family to work in a mine was my great-grandfather. Gatlinburg is a tourist town, the Smoky Mountains National Park is there. It's not that different from the little town on Block Island. Vacationers are what keep the town in business." Emmett pauses as he shovels down a forkful of spaghetti. "There's not much else to do there except work in a hotel or some other tourism business."

"Isn't your dad a Park Ranger?" Carlisle asks.

Emmett nods as he refills his plate. "Yeah, and his dad was too. I could have but I wanted to try something different. We vacationed in the Outerbanks every fall after the camping season was over and I loved watching the fishermen on the docks. We'd go fishing on the head boats sometimes and I always liked it. After high school, I figured I'd try commercial fishing for the summer and it's all I've done ever since."

"Well, for a mountain man, you're a natural born fisherman." Carlisle raises his beer in salute.

"Thanks, Doc. That means a hell of a lot coming from the legend himself." Emmett actually looks bashful for once. "I'm sure plenty of people never would have believed Emmett McCarty would have made it as a longliner."

"So what's with the hillbilly name?" Rose bluntly asks. I'm still not used to her straightforward manner. Even coming from a city like Chicago hasn't prepared me for the way New Englanders speak.

Emmett doesn't seem at all offended. "It's a family name. I was named for my great-great uncle Emmett. He was supposedly a real hellion back in his day: moonshiner, gambler, and brawler. He disappeared while hunting up in the mountains. All they ever found were some scraps of cloth covered in blood; no body. They figure it was a bear or a lion that got him."

"Maybe it was a sasquatch." Jasper jokes as he gets up to clean his plate. We each take care of picking up after ourselves, that way no one can bitch that others aren't pulling their weight.

"Or a werewolf." Carlisle adds as they all laugh. "Or a vampire!"

"No, not a vampire. What would they being doing in the backwoods? They'd be hold up in some castle in Transylvania." Jasper responds as though he's put some serious thought into the matter.

Transylvania is in Romania. I freeze. The sudden thought catches me off guard. I look down at my empty plate, the recent past boils to the surface. I push my memories back down as I catch Jasper's eye. I swallow hard, desperate to focus on something else.

"You grew up with it, didn't you?" I ask him. "Fishing, I mean."

He nods, his shaggy hair bouncing in confirmation. "Yep. My dad and granddad were both shrimpers. We didn't own any boats or anything but being a deckhand in Galveston was a pretty good living until that damned fucking oil spill."

"You didn't receive any compensation for that?" Rose asks. We are all moving around the quarters, cleaning up the galley and the table. Meals never take long on board.

Jasper laughs bitterly. "Well, my dad did all right but I wasn't so smart. It's kind of hard to ask for a settlement when you have no proof of income, if you know what I mean. I had a girlfriend who liked to spend money plus I had my own bad habits."

Carlisle claps him on the back. "We've all been there, kid. I was lucky I had…" he falters and looks at me. I know he was about to say "Ted's dad" but instead he chooses his word carefully, "a friend who knew about taxes and set me straight early on. If I hadn't, I never could have appeared on t.v., the I.R.S. would have been all over my ass in a minute."

Rose nods, like she's heard it before. She grabs her bag and points to the head, "I'm taking a shower." She looks right at Emmett. "The door will be locked so don't even think of accidentally forgetting I'm in there."

"Trust me, I won't forget that you'll be in the shower." Emmett replies.

She pulls a padlock and key out of her bag and smirks. 'Oh, I definitely don't trust you."

"A padlock?" I can't help but ask.

"I've never seen any boat ever that has a lock on the head. I figured it was a good idea to pack my own." Rose opens the door to the compact bathroom and promptly closes it behind her.

"Weird chick but she's a good man on deck." Jasper mutters. We hear the water turn on. "She's really Alice's sister?" He asks in a low voice.

"Step-sister." I clarify.

He nods. "That makes more sense."

"You like Alice?" I ask, curious more because it keeps us talking, which means I'm not thinking.

"She's cool. I don't think she interested in anything more than a good time, which is alright." Jasper tends to wear his emotions on his sleeve and I can tell he's really feeling the opposite.

"Is it?" I push. I've finished the dishes and climb onto my bunk. Jasper leans on his while he considers his answer.

"Can't blame her for not wanting to get involved with someone like me." Jasper lowers his eyes and glances at his tattoo covered arms. "I've done a lot of stupid things in twenty-six years. Between not paying my taxes and then getting involved in drugs, I've got a lot of baggage." He stretches out on the top bunk and lets out a sigh. "If it's meant to be between me and Alice, or me and anyone else, it will be. Trust the process, I guess." He taps on the inside of his right elbow and I know he is tracing the needle mark scars that his ink covers.

"One day at a time, brother." Emmett quotes one of Jasper's favorite AA sayings back at him.

"A lot of fishermen have made those same mistakes. It's tempting having all that cash at such a young age. Captains know this and some try to help out crew members, like Doc here." Jasper nods towards Carlisle. "He's walked through the twelve steps so many times with me, he's probably got arthritis in his knees. These days, some boats are their own floating AA meetings."

"I guess I can see how it would be like some child star or musician suddenly having a ton of money at their disposal and crashing and burning." I say realizing how similar the situation is.

"Yep. You know what they say, rock stars and longliners- y'all can't tell the difference." Emmett quips, breaking the sudden tension that's filled the cabin. He's good at that I realize. He doesn't mean to be an asshole, he's just the kind of guy that doesn't like negative emotion and uses whatever humor he can to break it up. "We setting out again tomorrow, Cap?"

"I think so. I need to make sure we stay on this warm eddy. The next weather chart should show if it's going to break off or not. Four more sets like today and we're looking at a banger trip. I need to email the tally to Bella at Newton's then I'll take the first shift in the wheelhouse. Ted, you come up with me, it's time you learned how to drive a boat. Emmett, you'll relieve us in five hours."

I follow Doc up the narrow staircase to the wheelhouse. Like the quarters, its walls are paneled. There are various types of electronics everywhere. The single sideband radio is attached to the ceiling, a computer monitor is bolted to a counter, with the tower bolted to the floor below. Radar screens, the VMS transponder, chart plotters, fish finders, weather satellite, bilge alarm, instrument panels, the auto pilot, and various other machines crowd every open space. All are secured down. I try not to think about the type of wind and waves it would take to roll everything around. The wheelhouse is a misnomer. There is no big old ship's wheel like in the movies. It's just a few levers that move the boat forward or backwards. A large swiveling leather captain's chair and one smaller swiveling chair crowd together behind the thrust levers. I sit in the smaller chair. We are still anchored at the starting point of our last set. Carlisle wants to check the temperature data again before deciding whether or not we want to set in the same spot or move. First though, he moves over to the computer and opens the email program. I can see him squinting like he can't read the screen.

"You all set there Carlisle?" I ask as he compares the crumpled sheets of paper with the handwritten tally to the computer screen.

"Damn software changed again. Why can't they just keep it the way it was? All the buttons are moved around. I can't even figure out where to enter Bella's email address.

My ears perk up at the mention of Bella and an idea forms in my head.

"Carlisle, I can send the email if you want." I offer.

Carlisle looks relieved. "That would be a tremendous help. That way I can get started on the temperature charts."

I walk over and take a look at the screen, quickly figuring it all out. I type in the data. As I do I notice the signature at the bottom of the screen: F/V Vampress 1 Latitude: N 39° 27' 0" Longitude: W 72° 12' 0".

"Carlisle, why is the location of the boat on the email signature?" I ask nervously. I know the VMS charts our position at all times but unless someone hacks into the NOAA system, I'm fairly positive we can't be found any other way.

"The email is part of the VMS; it's the same software, Boatracs. It's the only way for us to communicate this far off shore without using expensive satellite software." He doesn't look up from examining a radar screen.

"Oh. Um, do we really need to send Newton's a tally? I mean we should probably wait until we finish the trip right?" I know my voice betrays my nervousness.

Carlisle raises his eyes to meet my mine. His voice is calm and reassuring. "They don't know to look for you here. There is no way they can find you. You are safe."

"What if they link us somehow? I was thinking- there are church records of the baptism, right? What if those records have been scanned and archived online? They could find out you and Esme are my godparents. I'm using her last name. It's not hard to make the connection between us." I pause, swallowing hard. "I'm not cut out for this cloak and dagger shit, Carlisle. I'm a goddamn college student, a pianist, not some secret agent. I have no idea where my dad is or if he's still alive. I miss…" I stop, too choked up to say it. I know I sound like a fucking baby who misses his mother. I am a fucking baby who misses his mother.

Carlisle walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder, the same way he had with Jasper earlier. "Edward, you have been through hell. No one who knows what happened could blame you for feeling paranoid. The government had a responsibility to keep you and your parents safe and they've failed. Until we can figure out who can be trusted and who can't, you will stay here with me. Only Esme and your dad know where you are and they would die before betraying that secret. As for Ed's whereabouts, Esme would let us know if something has happened. You will get through this. The Romanian police will capture that bastard. Someone in that town will turn on him, he can't control them all. Once he's in jail with his brother, it will all be over."

I nod, I know what he says makes sense. Still, even hearing him talk about it makes me nervous. I take a deep breath and get myself under control.

"Can you send Bella the email?" There is a glimmer in his eye, and I know he saw that kiss on the dock.

I nod. I still think it could be risky sending our location in an email but the thought of being able to talk to Bella, even if it's just electronically, excites me in a way nothing has in months. I need one good thing in my life and right now, it's her.

A/N So this is late but trust, me this version is much stronger than the first one. I really didn't like the way that one ended. It was, as I said to Stacy, meh. She gave me an idea this morning and I went with it. I'm much happier with the results. Also, I just want to mention that although I'm not sure how long this will be (maybe 30 chapters?) I do know the plot and how it will unfold. A while ago, I saw /read a few different news reports that provided the inspiration for what happened to Edward and his family. I haven't seen anything similar in any of the Twifics I've read so I'm hoping this is an original idea that hasn't been done a hundred times before. I know the commercial fishing part is pretty unusual.

The Lemonade Stand is having an angst contest. I believe the submission period is from 15 June- 30 July. I am currently trying to persuade Ms. Stacy to do a collaboration with me on a one shot. It's an anonymous contest but you can let people know you've entered. TLS had an angst trivia night last night on Twitter (o.k. ANOTHER reason why this chapter is late). Follow them at TLSAngstContest. Thanks to Dreamweaver94 for letting me know I'm never going to win any Twitter contests if I don't upgrade to Tweetdeck and Google Chrome. I will do what I have to. Trivia is serious business for me and Stacy. In fact, she is one of the only Duranies I know who can beat me in DD trivia.

Don't forget to check out Just4TFT's 9 pm EST Tuesday night trivia and 9:30 pm Wednesday word search. Tangled Up In The Mainline is one of the featured fics for the month of June.

Since this chapter is late, I haven't started ch. 11 so I'm not sure if I will make the deadline for The Fictionators on Monday but check the comments section later on. I am also posting teasers in the Monday sneak peek cf on A Different Forest and on Ficcentral on Wednesdays. Follow me on Twitter and watch me swear in Italian when I miss a trivia answer: shelly_duran (2 underscores). OH! I made a snarky comment about Great White Shark sightings off Cape Cod and was retweeted by the Cape Cod Daily News! LOL!