Burn the Evidence

Scene B

Disclaimer: Edward Scissorhands is not my own; excerpt of the song "Here in Your Arms" copyright Hellogoodbye.

"You are the one
the one that lies close to me
whispers "hello, I miss you quite terribly"
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly
there's no place I could be but here in your arms" –Hellogoodbye

A/N: I had to add in the song snippet because it just seemed to fit so well. Then again, lots of songs could relate to the story of Edward and Kim, but this one just seemed particularly bittersweet to me. Enjoy chapter two, and even though at the end of this chapter it may seem like the end of the story, don't worry. It most certainly is not. (:

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"May I ask," the man drawled, sighing and taking off his glasses as he examined the pile of cash that lay before him, "how in the world a young woman like you obtained so much money?"

Kim fidgeted nervously in her soft, richly upholstered chair. It had been a little more than a month since she had resolved to reunite with Edward, and she had everything set, with the exception of a social security card and a car. And now, at the car dealership, she very much so did not want to tell him that she had taken the money out of her college fund. "It came from an inheritance."

"So…then why exactly do you need this car?"

"I…" she glanced quickly around the room, examining the trinkets that scattered his office. A couple awards, a diploma of some sort, a picture of what she assumed to be his family—

"Miss Boggs?"

She blinked and looked once more at him. "Uh…I'm getting ready to go to college, and it's far away from here. I figured this would be the first step towards my…adult life," she lied, and lied well, because the man instantly smiled and shoved some papers her way.

"Very well then!" he announced, folding his hands. "So that's 3,000 dollars cash for a used Toyota Tercel, that car just out front?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Now, you do realize that it's not the best car in the world, and that it's not going to give you any big street reputation in college?"

She raised a brow and nodded. "That…wasn't what I was looking for anyway…"

He grinned. "Well, sign here, and the car's yours!"

She did as asked, smiling at her accomplishment. "Can I drive it home?"

At the man's delighted nod, she was out the door.

The car was definitely nothing to sneeze at. A 1980 Toyota Tercel, white, a couple scratches, and even more pieces where the paint was peeling away to reveal the primer color was what sat parked before her, and she mentally congratulated herself. It was cheap, inconspicuous, and would most definitely get her (and Edward!) from point A to point B.

She slipped the key in the lock and unlocked it, getting into the car and marveling at how…normal it looked. The interior was a dull, faded sort of teal color, with the seats being cloth and slightly worn. The middle consol had been taken out and a sheet covered what would undoubtedly be otherwise naked metal, and the glove compartment door was also missing. But she leaned against the seat anyway, leaning her head back to stare up at the tattered ceiling. It ran perfect, was an automatic, and was big enough to hold the two of them (and a few choice belongings) comfortably.

A fleeting spark of doubt lit in her mind, but she quickly disregarded it. What if Edward didn't even want to come with her? What if she was caught? What if, what if, what if?

Shaking her head and biting her lip resolutely, she put the key in the engine and started it, then reveled in the soft purr of the engine as she worked out the plan in her mind. She'd park the car at the car park down the street, walk back to the dealership, drive her mother's car back home, then take the bus back to the car park. Finally, after all this, she'd go and pick up Edward.

She was giddy just thinking about it. The plan was intricate and probably a little unnecessary, but it made her feel empowered and eager. With a surge she was driving off, now more determined than ever.

- - -

Edward couldn't explain it, but something in the air felt odd—like something about this day was exceptionally diverse from the other one hundred-some-on other ones. And it was almost like a ray of blissful anticipation had illuminated the inside of him, showing him the potentials of the world and how not-so-unbelievable they actually were. If just for a moment, he ceased in his trimming, scissors stilling over the hedge, as the sun slowly sank below the far-off horizon.

But he just blinked and continued, merely discarding the feeling as a glimmer of something most unattainable and most unreliable to dwell on. Another month had passed since he had had one of those terrible nightmares, and he didn't very well want another one any time soon. He was just about finished—just about ready to wipe off his shearing appendages and head inside for some dinner, which grew in complimentary of the garden he had kept in top-shape all those years, but a glint down the drive of the hill caught his peripheral vision, and he once again found himself frozen to the grass, unable to turn himself around and see, in full view, what was making its way up the hill to the rickety mansion.

He didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed at that moment. Surely it wouldn't be Kim—oh, no. That was the last person he'd expect. But then it couldn't be one of the housewives, could it? Or the police? His blades twitched anxiously, and he found himself walking quickly up the steps and into the mansion. Once inside he situated himself at a broken window, peering out fearfully.

The car was white and box-like—not like the other cars in Suburbia or like the police cars, so he relaxed a little. It stopped at the gates, where the metal grate lie hidden beneath the overgrown vines, and he heard the engine rattle to a halt before the telltale sound of a squeaking door made him wince.

He kept his blades from fidgeting, knowing they made noise and would attract the unexpected and quite unwanted visitor, so instead he opted for curling his toes inside his boots, ducking a little when a head popped out from the car.

A woman walked to the door, seeming determined and hell-bent on stepping past all of his garden sculptures to get to the door. She had a head of mid-length blondish hair and was wearing a blue-colored suit. Also, she carried a large bag slung around her shoulder, and it bounced against her hip as she walked.

It definitely was not Kim. This woman was not the girl he had become besotted and entranced by. Of this he was sure.

The woman came to the door finally, and he moved away completely from the window, sparing a glance at the door to make sure he had locked it. He had.

The knock echoed throughout the mansion, and he slunk into a corner, sitting back on his haunches in the shadows and trying not to notice the cobwebs that tickled his nose.

"Hello?" the woman called, her voice pleasant and young—much like honey or an untainted bowl of cookie dough. She knocked again, this time longer and louder. "Is anybody home?"

There was silence and he thought the woman had finally left, but then he heard a phrase that made him go rigid.

"Avon calling!"

He wondered briefly—frantically—if the woman was Peg Boggs, or if perhaps history was repeating itself.

She knocked again and repeated the phrase, making him crouch farther into his corner, arms tucking his knees as close to his chest as possible.

Of course, she couldn't be Peg. She was much too young, and so thin that he saw the bones of her knees as she had walked to the door. Then he heard her curse the company she worked for and turn to leave, her footsteps heavy.

He blinked down at the floor as he heard the car pull away and drive back down the hill. The car had scared him, but he had still left the ladder outside, hidden in the shrubbery though it was. He didn't want it to rust…

Fifteen minutes or possibly more passed before he summoned up the courage to look out the window and make sure the coast was clear. It was, and he got up slowly, ambling to the outside. Dark had already fallen over Suburbia and the mansion, but he didn't care much. Dark was something he was used to, even if he didn't necessarily like it.

He pulled the ladder from a particularly large bush, dragging it out so that he could fold it. He didn't realize he was standing in front of the iron gates until a pair of incandescent lights shone in his eyes and blinded him.

Startled, he dropped the ladder and staggered backwards. The word police raced across his thoughts, flashing lights much brighter than the one in his eyes to get up and run as fast as he could back into the mansion. But the car was much too close now, and he knew he'd been caught. Panic knifed through him, making him tremble and his scissors slice at the air like he had to cut his way through it to breathe.

He recognized the car—white and box-like—and felt his heart drop into the pits of his stomach. Why had the woman come back? Hadn't she gotten the idea the first time around? Enraged, frustrated, and feeling much like he had on Christmas Eve, Edward finally mustered whatever wits were left in him to turn around and march solemnly towards the mansion, leaving only the ladder in his wake. The car door opened quietly, but still loud enough for him to hear, and his steps quickened considerably, coinciding with the wild thumping in his chest. A voice made him stop completely, though.

"Edward!"

The voice sounded familiar—much too familiar, in fact, and he found himself twitching both his toes and his blades slower now as he turned around to face whoever was calling him with such a voice that made him swallow and quiver at the possibilities. He noticed then that the car had been turned off, headlights and all, and the woman stood near it, in the dark, so that he couldn't make out who it was. He could clearly see that the car was not the one from before, though, as it was much more tattered.

She advanced, and he retreated. Several times they repeated this game until the girl finally grew fed up and stepped into a dim light in the garden.

And then all of Edward's senses failed him and his mind became a blank slate. His arms were limp; his knees felt like they would buckle. No sound, no smell, no feeling…nothing fazed him at this moment or any other moment as she stepped cautiously towards him, clutching what looked like her car keys in one hand. When she spoke again, everything came back in a rush, and he felt like Jim was hitting him over the back with a pipe again.

"Edward?"

She had sounded so desperate, so afraid of something…perhaps him, or maybe just the thought of him? Whatever it was, the last syllable had been pronounced with a breaking sort of tone, making her voice seem weak and shaky—almost like it was about to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

This girl had shorter hair than the one before. It fell to just barely the tips of her shoulders, looking freshly cut. She had separated bangs, and wasn't anywhere near as skinny as the Avon lady. And the way she walked—the way her expression shifted into so many vulnerable things—made his chest ache and his insides churn. She looked hurt.

"Edward," she repeated for the third time, and then he realized that she was visibly shaking.

He took a deep but silent breath through his agape mouth that had dropped slightly from shock, shuddering a little as he did so. She could change her appearance all she wanted—could cut her hair, flesh out in all the most appropriate places, even put on make-up to make her seem older than she was—but Edward would never forget her for as long as he lived, which would most likely be until the end of time.

The woman that stood before him was no Avon lady. This was the one and only Kim Boggs. This was the woman the rational part of him had wished to never see again, even though the other quite instinctive side was already dancing with her in the snow.

Four months and sixteen days they had been apart, and it seemed more like seventy years.