Again, we're on the downside here. Next chapter should be the last.
Thank you to Di, Aileen and Paige for absolutely everything. xo
Blackbird
Chapter 11
. . . . .
The next few weeks passed eventfully for Edward, something he was grateful for, because it helped alleviate the pain of Bella's absence.
He met his new, chosen electors who nominated him for Councilwoman Russel's vacated chair. After the rigidity and austere judgment of Marcus Ridley Thomas and Pastor Caius, conversation with his younger patrons was a walk in the park. Especially since they all seemed to be fans.
Garrett Burns, thirty-two years old with the widest, most disarming smile Edward had ever seen, was the city's Parks and Recreation Director. He'd greeted Edward by slapping his back and calling him Mike Tyson, probably in reference to Edward punching Kid. Then, he'd given Rosalie his killer smile and asked if she'd have dinner with him. Maybe because they were courting Garrett's district vote, she'd agreed immediately. Nonetheless, they'd seemed to hit it off and had gone out to dinner several times.
At twenty-eight, Bree Taylor-Anderson was the city's youngest ever Finance Director. Although a bit dry and direct, she was nonetheless an Isa Swan fan, and had admitted she was relieved he'd saved Isa from a balcony fall. She was also damn proud of the way he'd handled Kid Culprit.
Michael Welch, Tyler Hatch, and Jessica Stanley were a few others who held public, high-ranking jobs, who had also agreed to support Edward's nomination. The general consensus between his sponsors about the televised punch was that Edward was an off-duty police officer protecting a citizen who just happened to be his girlfriend. Every one of them said they'd probably have done the same.
Whenever someone referred to Bella as Edward's girlfriend, though, it always made his heart skip a beat. Everyone still associated her with him, and probably would for quite some time.
Bella had disrupted his regimented life in a big way, which had terrified him at times. And even though she'd thrown him out of his comfort zone, it had felt almost like freedom. He was too strict with himself; both of his previous lovers had accused him of having a stick up his ass.
Bella had succeeded in giving it a good tug.
He still missed her. He couldn't help worrying about her, couldn't help wondering how she was doing. She was so vulnerable, so self-unaware, sometimes child-like in her interactions with him. Only twenty-two, but she might as well still have been a minor, the way she blindly followed her mother.
But after she'd decided to go back to her mother—as if nothing had happened, as if Renee hadn't been a huge part of Bella's breakdown—he decided that he had to let her go.
Bella just wasn't ready to be in a relationship, unless it was with her mother.
Letting her go hurt, but he couldn't have regrets. He had to trust himself. He was used to relying on his gut instincts, so he had to trust them now.
Even if he did have regrets. Even if he did have doubts.
They'd pass.
The nights dragged for him, as his resolve not to think about Bella weakened. He'd remember the way they'd made love—as if they were giving each other their hearts. Words had been difficult for both of them, but they'd communicated well through touch.
He'd often had the feeling that Bella was afraid to close her eyes when they made love, that she was afraid to lose him.
It killed him. He'd let her down.
But she'd let him down first, when she'd run away with her mother. Renee ruled Bella with an iron fist, and Bella showed no signs of wanting to change the status quo. How could he compete with that?
He couldn't. He'd found out the hard way that he didn't have the temperament to do so that day at the motel. Now, he just needed to come to terms with it so he could let Bella go completely.
Somehow.
In four days, the election would be held, and he'd find out if the last few months' struggle had been worth it all. But as easy as the nomination for the vacated chair had been, something still didn't feel right.
If he won the chair, he'd have to forgo his detective's exam and quit his job as a police officer until the next November election two years from then. There also wasn't a guarantee he'd be rehired as a police officer in the event he wasn't re-elected. He thought he'd come to terms with saying goodbye to his job on the force months ago, but now he wasn't so sure.
That made Edward wonder if he doubted himself because of his feelings over the loss of Bella. Even though he'd been the one calling it quits on their relationship, he still felt as if he'd lost her, and now he felt as if he was going to lose the job he loved as well. It was too much.
Maybe all the uncertainty was punishment for being a closed-off asshole. He'd never been good at relationships because they didn't operate by the book, and that was the way he was used to living his life.
Until Bella, that was.
His chest tightened as he remembered that night she had come to see him. Shutting himself down with her had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, especially since she'd seemed so vulnerable at the time. Compartmentalizing his thoughts during a difficult situation was something ingrained in him, so he'd forced himself to focus his attention only on her words. He'd shoved her body's telltale signs of distress and grief to the back of his mind.
He suspected something else had happened with her mother, and he'd been curious, then angry that he was curious. Two sides of his personality—the protector and the analyst—had warred inside as she'd looked up at him with defenseless, burnt cinnamon eyes that had flattened, then gone dead.
Because of him.
He'd watched it happen, and had hurt seeing her hurt. The blood had rushed to his feet, holding him in place. Her distress had shaken him, and he'd almost broken. As a result, because it had scared him, he'd been cool in his conversation with her.
He couldn't continue saving her, even if part of him still wanted to. It wouldn't do either of them any good.
"I like the blue tie best," Rosalie said, bringing him out of his thoughts. Assistant to the City Attorney, unofficial Campaign Director, and now his Fashion Advisor.
On a raised platform, Edward stared at himself in the tailor's shop mirror. There were slight bags under his eyes, and his face looked drawn. He didn't look like a man with the world at his feet—he looked defeated. And ridiculous, too, because the navy suit coat he wore was missing its sleeves.
He was trying on different ties while the tailor was making the final adjustments to the suit Edward planned to wear on Election Day. Although Rosalie had called the tie blue, it looked purple to him.
"Purple is the new blue," he murmured as the tailor began pinning on the first sleeve.
"You'll have this ready for us by Wednesday, right?" Rosalie asked as Edward's cell phone began to ring.
"Excuse me," Edward said and stepped away to see who was calling. There was no identifying name, just a number he didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
After a pregnant pause, he heard a strained female's voice. "Is this Officer Cullen?"
"This is," Edward answered, wondering who it was. He didn't often receive calls from strangers. "How can I help you?"
"It's Maria Almanza," the woman answered, her voice a panicked whisper. "You were at my house a few months ago. 2105 Woods Avenue? My, er, my husband has his gun out. He's threatening to shoot my kids if I leave. Can you please come?"
A memory of the two shell-shocked kids and the sobbing woman who'd regretted having called the police, raced through Edward's mind. He'd given her his personal number, but honestly, he'd never expected to hear from her again.
He was off-duty, but he couldn't ignore a cry for help. Especially since he'd given her his number.
"I'm on my way," he said. "Try to stay calm."
"What?" Rosalie asked.
"I've got to go," Edward said, shrugging off the overcoat.
"I just need a few more seconds," the tailor said as Edward handed it off to him.
Rosalie stood from her chair in alarm. "Edward, what's going on?"
"I've got an emergency. I'll be back later," he told them both as he ran from the shop.
It took Edward almost thirty minutes to get from downtown Los Angeles to the east side of the city. L.A. traffic was an exercise in patience during the best of times, but when he was in a hurry and didn't have the squad car, it was beyond frustrating.
During the drive, Edward called the police department to ask for backup.
"You're off-duty, Officer Cullen," Shawna, the dispatcher, told him.
"I'm never off-duty for calls like this," he gritted, flooring the accelerator as the light he was stopped at finally turned green. "Code 10-32. EDP has a gun in a room with minors present."
"10-69," she advised crisply. "Backup is on the way."
Maria Almanza was waiting outside for him when he pulled up to her house and parked at the curb. She ran to the driver's side of his truck as he pushed the door open, her eyes red-rimmed and full of panic.
"He kicked me out," she cried. "Dios mio, my kids are still in there."
Damn it. Only the vilest, lowest form of human would use children as leverage.
Edward felt adrenaline fill his blood as he climbed out of the truck, and had to force himself to calm down, because he was ready to tear the man limb from limb. It hadn't even been two months since the last time they'd needed to visit this address. Why was it so difficult putting children first?
Directly across from the dingy, white stucco house, was the backlot of a warehouse fenced off with barbed wire, a damned depressing view. It was no place to raise a family.
Entering a house without his firearm or backup was a bad idea, but Edward didn't carry a gun when he was off-duty, nor could he leave the kids unprotected. If the woman's behavior was an indication of what waited inside, they must be terrified.
In the background, he could hear a number of dogs barking.
"Is there a dog inside?" Edward asked. He didn't remember one from the last time, but if there were a dog, he'd have to wait for the backup squad.
"No, no."
"Wait here by the truck," he told her.
"But my kids," she said and began to follow him.
"Stay here," he repeated firmly.
Edward could hear the woman sobbing as he walked up the uneven sidewalk littered with children's toys. The grass was brown and dead with exposed dirt. No car was parked in the driveway, only a child's bicycle. There was a big window at the front of the house, but the curtains were closed.
He didn't have any of his equipment on him, so he'd have to subdue the suspect by brute force, and he adopted a loose, ready stance as he neared the front door. Wooden and still scarred at the bottom from when he'd last kicked at it, the door was cracked open.
"Mr. Almanza?" Edward called as he pushed the door back with a creak. "Police. I just want to talk to you."
There was no response.
He flattened himself against the door's jamb, then leaned forward to look inside.
Mr. Almanza—Blackhair—was slouched in a recliner across from the door, staring at him insolently. Next to the chair, the children huddled together on the floor, their arms tight around each other.
"Hello, Officer Asshole," the man drawled with a scowl. Wearing shorts and a dirty white T-shirt, he looked like he hadn't showered or shaved for a week. There was an open bottle of vodka on the table beside him.
His hands were hidden, which meant he still held the gun.
Slowly, Edward stepped inside with his hands raised. It was against protocol, but he wasn't going to leave the children in there alone. Clearly terrified, they stared at him with rounded, shock-filled eyes.
Almanza watched him almost curiously with a crooked eyebrow, obviously feeling powerful.
"Can we talk?" Edward asked him.
"Ain't nothing to talk about," the man answered in an almost friendly tone. "Where's your friend?"
Friend?
It took a moment too long for Edward to realize the man meant his partner, Emmett. During that moment, Almanza abruptly stood and aimed a gun at him. Before Edward could move, he fired it. The bullet exploded by him, embedding itself into the wall behind him with a crash, shocking Edward into springing at the man. The children scattered as he and Almanza brutally fought for the gun, arms and fists flying, before Edward was able to trap Almanza's arm against his side and wrench the gun from his hand.
With a curse, Edward swung a fist at the man and punched him in the face again and again, until Almanza fell to the floor in a slump, passed out cold. Breathing heavily, Edward sank to the floor beside him as Maria Almanza came racing inside screaming.
"Mi ninos! Mi ninos!"
Panting from exertion and pain, Edward looked back at the wall with its torn bullet hole. The burst of sound kept repeating in his mind, kept sending a thrill of fear through his body.
It was too close. He'd come too close to being shot.
Maria Almanza ran past him with the children, and Edward called after her with a voice that shook to stay close. As he raised his hurt, bloodied hand, he saw that it was also shaking. It felt like he'd broken a knuckle or two.
He'd been shot at tonight, yes, but he'd saved anyone else from being hurt. He'd saved the kids.
But, it was a first; he'd never been shot at before.
What would've happened if he'd been seriously hurt . . . or worse?
He'd catch hell for what he'd done. First, from his superior, the Chief. Then, from his father.
Part of him also wondered about Bella's reaction. That same part longed to tell her, to share the experience with her, which surprised him . . . because he'd been the one who'd let her go.
Distantly, he realized he must be in shock.
God, he was confused. Only yesterday, he was looking forward to the city role he could possibly play, but then today, reality came knocking, punting him headfirst into disjointed pieces. He wasn't sure about anything at that moment, except that his damn hand hurt.
In the distance came the sound of a squad car's siren. Outside, Edward could hear there were people gathering, but he couldn't make himself stand. Not yet.
He studied the bloodied face of the unconscious man. He'd broken Almanza's nose, but that would be the least of the man's worries; he'd attempted murder, resisted law enforcement, and was in possession of a firearm, probably unregistered.
This time, he wouldn't be getting out of jail so easily.
. . .
Edward had just sunk into one of the vinyl chairs in the hospital's emergency room waiting area, after being seen by a doctor, when he caught what looked like an interview with Bella on the wall-mounted TV. He did a double-take. She was with the news reporter he'd wanted to punch, the man who had belittled Bella's statement about loving life and wanting to be a role model.
She was voluntarily talking to that prick?
Before he knew what he was doing, Edward had moved closer to the TV to hear what was being said. The painkillers in his system made him lurch a bit as he crossed the room, and he swore before finding another chair.
"Thank you for being here, Isa. Your record company said you wanted to come on the air, that you wanted to get rid of the rumors once and for all," the reporter said.
The view widened to include both the reporter and Bella against an evening L.A. skyline. Her body language was open and relaxed, and she was wearing a dark red mini dress with minimal jewelry. Her hair was styled simply, falling in soft waves to her shoulders.
His heart leaped. He thought she looked beautiful. That she looked peaceful and focused.
Damn it, he missed her.
"Well, firstly, I'd like to compliment the tabloids for their ability to capture those amazingly bad pictures of me," Bella said dryly, laughing. "That's a talent."
No matter what the reporter had said about her months ago, Edward could see he now seemed to be charmed by her. Which made sense because Bella could be charming, but Edward still didn't trust him.
"But probably for the first time," Bella continued slowly, thoughtfully, "they got the story right."
The reporter gave her a look of stylized confusion. "What are you saying?"
Bella held the man's gaze as she replied, "I'm saying, 'truth is the only safe ground to stand upon.' And I'm taking responsibility for my actions that night."
Edward blinked as he heard the quote he'd once said to her, feeling oddly proud. His throat tightened uncomfortably.
"I was on that balcony . . . ready to let go," she said, and her speech was smooth and sure, her face open, honest, and calm.
Edward couldn't believe she was admitting her suicide attempt on live TV. Whose idea was that? Her mother would never agree to such a thing, not when she'd been so intent in covering up the story. He also found it surprising that Bella would voluntarily do it, yet there she sat.
He was in The Twilight Zone.
"I had to make the decision to live," Bella continued. "I had to make the decision to stop being a victim, to stop trying to be somebody I knew I wasn't. I needed to know what was worth saving about me."
Bella's voice was strong and comfortably poised as she spoke; nowhere did Edward hear fear or uncertainty. Her past vulnerability seemed nonexistent, and he swallowed hearing the easy power of her words. She seemed so different from the girl he'd thought he knew.
"The truth is, that fantasy girl you see on the posters, she did go over the balcony." There was a moment where Bella shared a brief look of pain, making Edward's heart twinge, but then her features smoothed out again. "And the real Isa Swan got pulled back up."
"Edward? You ready?" a voice asked close by, but Edward couldn't look away from the TV.
"I'm getting some professional help now," she told the reporter. "It's helping me to get to know her. She still has some issues, but . . . I like her."
Bella's wide, beautiful smile filled the screen. Although he didn't know what she'd been going through for the past month, Edward could tell she was at peace with what she was sharing, that coming clean at that moment was a spiritual experience for her. Next to the almost broken image he had of her in his mind, from the last time he'd seen her, as she was now, it was surreal.
"Edward?"
He noticed his father standing there holding a sheaf of papers, and realized he had finished signing the paperwork required by their HR department. As Chief of Police and Safety Manager, he'd been the one who'd met Edward on the scene.
Unfortunately.
Apparently, he had checked Edward out, and was ready to drive him home.
"Uh, just a minute," Edward said, turning back to the TV.
"You know what?" the reporter asked Bella, this time sounding genuine, and Edward felt a sense of relief; if the snotty reporter first bent on denigrating Bella was now on her side, perhaps others would be, too. "Maybe as we get to know her, we'll like her, too. That was a lot to admit, Isa."
Bella smiled again and bowed her head, looking as if she was lit from within. "I know what I say and do can affect others. I'm hoping what I've gone through can help someone else."
Then she looked directly at the camera, and Edward's heart jumped as his eyes met hers through the TV screen. "It's important to get help when you need it," she told everyone listening.
"Good luck," the reporter said. "And thank you for sharing your story."
Dazed, Edward stood, feeling his father's bemused gaze.
"So she's finally admitting the truth?" his father asked.
"Evidently," Edward said, hearing the shock and wonder in his voice.
He doubted Bella's interview had anything to do with her mother, and everything to do with Bella. She was the one who had changed. He could hardly believe it after her complete avoidance about the suicide attempt, but clearly, he'd been wrong about her; she wasn't her mother's puppet. Obviously, she was in charge now.
Edward felt as if he was sleepwalking on the way to his father's SUV. His right hand was taped up and ached—he'd broken two knuckles—but the main thought running through his mind was one of chagrined revelation.
Bella had been right that day at the motel when she'd told him everything had already changed.
He was the idiot who'd missed it.
. . .
