Thanks to everyone!
A week later, the sound of rain against the roof and windows of the house tempts Isabella with the thought of staying in bed. She can tell just by glancing out her single window that it is very early in the morning, the sky slightly lightened despite the downpour. It's soothing and reminds her of the happy times she had back home in Forks. There was always work to do, and even if the weather was inclement, their tasks had to be completed. The rain against the barn's tin roof always sounded like their own personal percussion, and James and Isabella would spend hours mixing those sounds into their vivid imaginations.
It's only fitting she would think of him again now as the rain pelts down upon the city with indifference. Truthfully, he never leaves her mind, even as she busies herself day and night with work and errands and mingles with the locals to see what she can gather about the last night her brother spent alive.
Other than knowing he breathed his last breath outside The Lost Key, she knows nothing else. Some days she is content with letting the information come to her, while other days, she can think of nothing else but turn the city upside down to find the truth.
This morning, she rolls over in her bed to face the window, watching the droplets of rain slide down the windowpane, and she feels his loss so deep in her heart she can barely bring herself to move from beneath her blankets.
Rosalie notices the withdrawn look on Isabella's face a little while later and the absence of the breakfast she usually prepares for the house every morning. No one expects her to, but it has become a kind gesture everyone has started looking forward to when their day begins.
"Here," Rosalie states, handing Isabella a steaming mug of Oolong tea she knows Isabella prefers.
"Thank you," Isabella replies softly, grateful for the distraction from her own thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry. Breakfast."
Rosalie stops her as Isabella moves towards the refrigerator to make something for them to eat. "It's fine," she smiles gently with a shake of her head. "We can make it ourselves, you know."
"Of course, you can," Isabella agrees, "but I like preparing it for you all. Not out of pity, but because it reminds me of who I was. Someone with purpose."
Some days she feels like she's floating adrift, lost between what she feels she should be doing back home and what she wants to be doing here in Port Angeles. No matter where she is, here or there, there is always the nagging thought in the back of her mind that it's all useless anyway.
James won't ever be coming back, and she isn't sure if finding out the truth about what happened to him will ever take away the restlessness that now fills her life.
"You do have a purpose," Rosalie tells her. "Small or not, we all do."
"I guess I'm still waiting to find out what mine is exactly," Isabella sighs. "Especially here."
"No news about your brother?" Victoria interjects, walking into the kitchen. Judging by the way Isabella looks and sounds this morning, she assumes she has nothing worthy to share. Rosalie and Isabella turn their heads at the sound of Victoria's voice, making room for her to sit with them at the small table.
Once they're settled, Isabella shakes her head. "Not yet. I wonder if I'm better off not knowing, honestly."
"Why do you say that?" Rosalie asks.
"It won't bring him back," Isabella answers, sighing and letting her gaze settle on the rain streaming against the window. She says nothing else, forgetting she isn't alone for a few moments. Eventually, she shakes her head as if it will bring some sense back into her mind. "I'm sorry. I'm learning that some days are harder than others."
"Is today one of those days?" Rosalie asks.
Bella nods, wiping the corner of her eye. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to those of us who've lost someone," Victoria adds in a voice just barely above a whisper. She lifts her eyes to meet Isabella's sad stare. "You're right, though. Some days you don't have it in you to fight. To make it seem like everything is fine."
"It's the rain," Isabella exhales. "Makes me think of him, that's all."
"He liked the rain?" Victoria questions, her eyes dropping down to the table as visions of James as a little boy dance in her head. She wonders if their daughter resembles him as a child, but the dagger in her heart at the thought makes her push it away almost as quickly as it enters her mind.
Isabella nods. "Not so much the wet part, but the way it sometimes got him out of finishing all the work that had to be done."
"Smart boy," Rosalie laughs politely.
"He really was," Isabella says, a frown crossing her face. "Which makes it hard to believe he would get himself caught up in anything as dangerous as it must have been. He would never have gotten involved in…whatever it was he had gotten himself into unless there was a good reason for it."
"Maybe there was a good reason," Victoria says, attempting to reassure her of her brother's good intentions. "Maybe he died saving someone else."
"I would be content if that were true," Isabella says. "That would be so like him."
"So, use that then," Rosalie says, her hand reaching across the table to squeeze Isabella's. "Hold on to that thought on days like these when it's hard to forget the bad stuff."
"Thanks," Isabella says to both of them. "I should be busy enough tonight at work to keep myself occupied."
Rosalie nods. "Well, for your sake, I hope you're slammed tonight."
"Please don't wish the same for us," Victoria warns. "Even though it would get Marcus off our backs a bit."
Isabella ignores the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach at the mention of the man she had seen only from afar until last week. She had seen him from a distance that morning with Edward at the docks and had heard his voice several times here at Rosalie's. She wished she had never gotten as close to him as she had a few days ago because the look on his face only made her miss her old life even more than she already had.
Back home, no one ever looked at her the way Marcus had. Everyone knew who she was, and in turn, she knew everything about them, as well. There weren't any secrets. Forks, Washington's biggest scandal was when someone stole Ms. Weber's pie from the church picnic one summer.
Here, it seems trouble follows Marcus wherever he goes. The way Edward had spoken to him, his jaw tight with restraint as Marcus had lowered his eyes to see all of Isabella, convinced her that everyone meant what they said about him.
Stay away.
As she walks to work a few hours later, Isabella keeps her eyes forward beneath her umbrella, acting as if Marcus' pub doesn't exist as she passes it on the street. She can tell from the sounds surrounding her as she walks that there is a decent crowd inside and around his pub, so she prepares herself for the same type of night at her shift. As expected, she turns the corner and isn't surprised to see guests spilling out onto the streets, despite the late afternoon hour and rain from above.
"Has it been like this all day?" Isabella asks Emmett once she has discarded her coat and umbrella, joining him behind the bar. He nods feverishly, his eyes never leaving the register as he returns change and then dips under the bar for a fresh set of glasses.
"Rain brought 'em in," he says with his typical good-natured smile, despite how busy it is. "Some days it does, some days it doesn't."
She's immediately thrown into the chaos, working alongside Emmett with ease. It's the exact distraction she needs today, pleased that her worrisome thoughts have been pushed aside for now as she tends to the busy night.
Eventually, when Edward makes his way from his office in the back, his face is void of expression as he enters the room. He pauses briefly to survey the situation, nods in acknowledgment when a guest calls him by name, and heads behind the bar. Standing near one of the tables as she clears empty glasses, Isabella watches him out of the corner of her eye.
His very presence has the capability to render a whole room silent, but she doesn't bother to gauge anyone's reaction to him entering the room. She's too preoccupied with her own response to seeing Edward; she recognizes her feelings for exactly what they are.
Attraction.
There's more to him than what meets the eye; there are layers hidden deep beneath his stoic exterior. He stands behind the bar now with his jaw tight and his eyebrows knitted together, but she has seen firsthand what he looks like with a smile on his face. She has seen him with his inhibitions lowered and wishes for the chance to see that relaxed, mischievous glint in his eye again. She has seen him with his sister, and his need to keep her safe reminds her of James, making her feel drawn to him even more than she already does.
She remembers how his eyes traveled down the length of her body and now feels it all over again.
Inexperienced as she is, she recognizes the tingles he leaves beneath her skin when she thinks of him and tries her hardest to hide it when he approaches her by one of the tables a little while later.
"I have to make a run," Edward says, leaning towards her ear so she can hear him better over the hum of the crowd. A few strands of her hair tickle his cheek as he talks. "You're closing tonight, Emmett says?"
Isabella nods, lifting a small tray of glasses. "Yes, it shouldn't be a problem. I know most of them in here, anyway."
Edward nods in response, tightening the buttons on his gray wool coat. He knows them all in here as well and knows everything will run as scheduled. He leaves then, only planning on taking an hour or so to meet an acquaintance for a taste of his homemade gin.
What he is completely unprepared for is the trouble he hears in whispers on his way back.
He makes it to The Lost Key just as the last guest is leaving and quickly steps inside and closes the door behind him, reaching for the keys he keeps in his pocket. He locks the doors roughly, jiggling the handles one last time to make sure they're locked, and reaches to the wall to flick off the lights. A few candles are lit around the room, and it's the only indication anyone is inside.
Fearing his time is short, Edward runs to each of them, blowing them out one by one until he is almost shrouded in darkness.
"Isabella?" He hisses in the dark, his voice barely above a whisper, as he brings the only lit candle with him to find where she is. She should have locked the doors and dimmed the lights. Being here alone is not safe for a woman such as Isabella, and his anger soars through his veins when he thinks he is too late; the rumors he heard on the streets of Marcus coming to meet Isabella may have been true. From what he has heard, Marcus sees no qualms with taking, quite literally, what he wants.
And Isabella seems to be what he is looking for.
Edward had said goodbye to his friend, the taste of the gin still on his lips, and had started walking back to the pub when he had overheard someone talking about the barmaid at The Lost Key. Of all the vile things that were said about Isabella, the one that stood out the most was that she had caught the attention of Marcus Volturi, who would be making his way to The Lost Key that very night.
Edward had all but run back, walking as fast and determined as he could without raising any suspicion amongst the loiterers on the streets. By the looks of it, he realizes with a devastating numbness he may have been too late.
He calls her name again, a little louder this time. "Isabella!"
"Edward? What —"
He doesn't let her finish her sentence as he dashes to where she stands in the hallway between the bar and the hallway leading to his office. He shakes his head at her, a finger over his lips to show her they need absolute silence.
"Are you alone?" Edward whispers, standing as close to her as he can without intimidating her. Instinctually, she presses her back to the wall as he hovers next to her. He steps closer. "Is anyone else here?"
"No, the last guest left a few minutes ago. Why?" When he doesn't respond, she looks up at him in worry. "Edward, you're scaring me."
His head flicks over to her quickly, his hand reaching to cover her mouth just as a slow, calculated knock echoes from the front door.
Edward swallows hard, his hand still covering Isabella's mouth as his eyes jump from the door and back to her. He holds the candle in his other hand, the soft light between them allowing him to meet her worried eyes with his own. Stepping closer so he stands in front of her, he makes sure to block her body with his, their shoulders touching as he shields her.
Not breaking their stare, he moves down to whisper in her ear as he did earlier in the night. The heat of his breath dances down the side of her neck, and if she weren't absolutely terrified, she would melt right here in his arms. Instead, her blood runs cold at the seriousness of his words.
"Don't. Move."
And then he blows out the candle, so it is nothing but them, the darkness, and the person knocking at the front door.
You're all so awesome. I can't wait to hear your thoughts about who it is!
See you soon!