Chapter 9 - The Runaway

Edward

I loathe being inside the heads of others. You hear and see the most unpleasant of things at times. Yet, I must admit, nothing quite compares to reading the sinister mind of an immortal psychopath.

While driving back home from my trip to Seattle, I saw the girl, Bella, within someone's thoughts. At first, I assumed there was nothing to it and planned on diverting my attention elsewhere. Then, I was made witness to a fantasy. Bella's slim neck was bent at a vulnerable angle. A hungry, venomous mouth was lapping up blood from her still throbbing pulse. The monster within myself growled, enraged by the dawning reality of the situation.

There was a fellow monster lurking in Forks. And this one - unlike me - had absolutely no desire to hold back its true, vampiric nature.

I was bombarded again and again by this unknown vampire's vile thoughts. He had found an easy target - a girl walking alone after dark and out of sight of any witnesses. The vampire purred at the delicious scent the girl produced. He compared it to the scents of his past victims and decided Bella's blood would be the best yet.

The part of myself which I despise understood the draw he felt.

My other half - my better half - wanted to rip his skull from his torso and crumble it until all that remained was powder.

For a week, I had struggled to control my bloodlust around this girl. I had found success to a certain extent. Despite Bella having a nearly irresistible scent, I had yet to harm even a single hair on her head. I believe this would be considered a breakthrough for any vampire placed in my position. She was alive and well, and (I hoped) she would remain that way until one of us finally moved away from Forks.

Then, to my dismay, along comes another vampire who craved her blood almost as badly as I do.

It nearly unhinged me to think he could snatch Bella up and drain her of life after I had tried so hard to avoid doing that to her myself. My anger grew tenfold as I watched him form his plan of attack. He wasn't like most vampires who catch, kill, and feed quickly. No. He was the type I personally hate the most.

Like a fat house cat with a mouse in its paws, this particular vampire makes a game out of the hunt and toys with his intended prey before he drinks.

As with all immortals, his appearance appeals to humans. Even the frightened ones cannot deny that we vampire's possess overwhelming beauty. However, sometimes humans are blinded by that beauty and are oblivious to the danger we pose. They only focus on what lies on the surface, ignoring that little voice which warns them to stay away from us and flee towards safety. This is what the vampire who hunted Bella uses to his advantage.

His attractiveness also allows him to be selective of his prey. He prefers targeting young women in their late teens or very early twenties. Conning a teenager is much easier (and amusing) to him than dealing with an adult. The hunt is never quick. He takes his time and savors the experience, curious to see how much he can gain of the human's trust before he feeds from their neck. His method of attack is simple but effective. He lowers their guard, makes a show of seducing them, and, finally, lures the unfortunate child to their death. Their willingness to walk straight into his trap is the thrill he lives on.

So, having a teenage girl from Forks tell him to his face that she "wouldn't go anywhere" with him came as a severe blow to both his pride and his dinner plans.

As my car raced towards the vampire, I worried he would kill Bella on the spot in retaliation of the insult she hurled at him. Thankfully, he did not. His depraved ego demanded more time to change her mind. If she chose to remain stubborn, he decided, he would then make her slowly suffer before drinking her lifeblood.

It was at this point that I arrived on scene and put a stop to the hunt.

On the outside, he presented a friendly facade. He spoke respectfully and showed very little hostility towards what he could only assume was a vampire with the same dining habits as himself. But it was all a lie. For every smile and laugh he gave me, his mind sank further into the depths of anger. He was outraged by my interference with his hunt and his game. Moreover, he was greatly offended when I ordered that he leave Bella alone and depart from the Olympic Peninsula immediately. Only when I hinted that I belonged to a coven living in the area did he truly submit to my demand. One vampire against a coven would be suicide.

The relief I felt knowing James had given up the hunt was short lived. After he walked away from Bella and me, he veered off the road approximately a hundred yards up ahead and attempted to hide himself within the cover of the woods. His thoughts were as dark as the night around us. He watched me like a hawk, hoping I would leave Bella behind and go on my merry way. This, I realized, I could not do. It would be a death sentence for her. My only choice was to drive Bella home. Afterwards, I would see to it that this James had indeed moved far away from Forks.

Having Bella in the confined space of my car was the ultimate test of my self-restraint. Her blood's aroma was both divine and maddening. The cool air blowing through my window did little to lessen its allure. I shut off my breathing and fought for control during the entirety of the ride.

Then, heaven help me, the questions began.

First, Bella asked if I had been sick and if that was the reason I hadn't attended school that day. I couldn't tell the girl that cloudless skies and bright sunshine keep me hidden far from mortal eyes. So, in response to the question, I told her Carlisle had written a doctor's excuse for my absence. If she wanted to interpret the information as confirmation that I was sick, I would not stop her.

Next, she wanted to know why I stopped my car and helped her deal with James. This was a question I wished I could understand fully myself. Surely things would have been made much simpler for me had James fed from her. If she were no longer alive, my throat would stop burning like a clump of scorching hot coal. I could go on living in Forks and never again come across the overpowering scent of freesia. And, best of all, I wouldn't have been the one responsible for her death.

Nevertheless, the thought that this girl might die so young only because she was born with the sweetest blood imaginable sickened me.

This led me to give Bella a slanted version of the truth: I saw James harassing her and decided he could not be trusted. She seemed to accept that explanation easily enough.

Then she asked a question which blew my mind. She wanted to know if I was involved in a gang.

After fumbling her words, she added that James used terms during our brief conversation often heard in connection to gang activity. I was surprised. Beyond surprised, really. Earlier, I had heard the way her heart fluttered like hummingbird wings - a sure indication of petrifying fear. I assumed she had been too traumatized to truly absorb the discussion I had with James. But, evidently, she heard every word and was intelligent enough to deduce something odd was going on. James and I may not have been gang members, as she first concluded, but she wasn't too far off. Vampires are notoriously territorial. Wars between covens have been known to break out due to boundary disputes. And, somehow, Bella picked up on it. Her intuition must be quite strong, I concluded.

This made me nervous. It also made me wonder what else she knew. Being unable to read her thoughts put me at a tremendous disadvantage.

Before she could get the chance to question me further about James or myself, I sought a way to silence her curiosity. Quickly, I popped in one of my mixed tapes in the car stereo and turned up the volume. I had hoped she would take it as a hint that I was done talking for the evening. It worked well for a time. The music played and she kept quiet. I took a fleeting glimpse in her direction. Gone was the blank expression which had been there moments before. There was a new gleam in her dark brown eyes, one which had no proper explanation under the circumstances. Very rarely have I seen this sort of expression on a human face. And the few times I have come across it, it was usually in connection to someone having made a startling discovery - like an astronomer finding a new galaxy in outer space.

Dread washed over me.

What could this possibly mean? Had she put the rest of the pieces of the conversation together and found an inkling of the truth? Did she have a clue as to what James and I really are?

As Bella's mouth opened to speak, I braced myself for the worst.

Instead, she asked for the name of the person singing on the car's sound system.

I was immensely relieved by the innocent question...yet also completely flabbergasted. Michael Jackson is a world phenomenon. His distinctive voice can be heard on both radio and television at all hours. Even people living in third world countries with sporadic access to electricity would recognize him. But a girl from Washington state had no idea who he was? It was unheard of.

"That's Michael Jackson - the most famous musician today," I informed her. "His music can be heard nearly everywhere you go. How could you not know that?"

I was faintly stunned by the hostile glare she shot at me. "I didn't know because I wasn't allowed to know!" she snapped. "Are you unaware of who my father is?" Then she turned her back and went about ignoring me for the rest of the ride.

I felt like a little boy whose mother had scolded him for asking an idiotic question.

Looking back, I suppose it was ignorant of me to have said what I did. Her father is the Police Chief of Forks and self-appointed town executioner of cassette tapes. I suppose it would be quite difficult for her to get away with breaking the law at home. Though, you would think she would have come across Michael Jackson's music while out with her friends. Forks may have a music ban, but that apparently has never stopped most of the other teenagers in the area from secretly listening to rock and pop songs whenever the opportunity presents itself. Why would she be any different from them?

What a strange girl.

I put those thoughts on pause as I park in front of Bella's house. After saying a quick "thanks for the ride", Bella exits from my car and travels up the sidewalk. She unlocks the front door and I drive away. Now that she is safely at home, I focus my concentration on other matters.

James.

I park my car behind a closed business near where I last saw him and begin tracking his scent. I follow it out of Forks and deep into the wilderness. The scent trail weaves around the ancient trees of the National Park and over several mountain peaks. Eventually, it meets the highway - the one heading northeast. His scent ends at a rundown truck stop outside of Port Angeles. I loop around the city twice before giving up. I frown deeply at what likely has happened. Some kind diesel truck driver took pity on James and gave him a ride out of town. No doubt, James views hitchhiking as yet another fun game he can play with the helpless humans. The truck driver will never make it back home alive. Unfortunate, yes. But, I rationalize, at least James is leaving the Olympic Peninsula and getting out of my hair.

Before I return to Forks, I decide to stay a while in the National Park. Filling my stomach to its capacity is a good idea since I have school to suffer through for the next several days. The feisty mountain lion I come across temporarily soothes the ache in my throat. It's a welcome and wholesome snack compared to the herbivores I'm usually forced to feed from.

With my hunger satisfied for now, I retrieve my car and head home for the night. Carlisle and Esme are curled up together on the couch, enjoying late night television with the living room lights switched off. I hang my jacket near the front door, wander over to where they sit, and glance at the TV set. Johnny Carson is wearing a cape and turban and "predicts" what the closed envelope in his hand will say. His sidekick, Ed McMahon, guffaws on cue at each and every joke, even the occasional weak ones which barely get a response out of the studio audience. Is Ed's salary determined by how often and how loudly he laughs at his boss's jokes? Or, does he just find everything around himself outrageously amusing? Perhaps I should visit the studio one day, browse through Mr. McMahon's thoughts, and discover the answer for myself.

Carlisle is the first to tear his eyes away from the television screen. "Hello, Edward. How was Seattle?"

"Decent," I answer. "I bought a few more albums to add to my collection." A few dozen more actually...but who's counting? I dip into my front pocket and hand over a tiny, paper envelope to Esme. "Here's the seeds you asked for."

Her face lights up like a Tiffany lamp. "Oh! I can't believe you actually found them. This variety of rose just came on the market recently. Abraham Darby. English shrub rose. Everybody wants one. These are extremely hard to come by right now, you know."

"Yes. I discovered that for myself early on. It took me visiting nearly every gardening center in and around Seattle before I could locate a packet. Then, I had to bribe the man behind the counter with a wad of cash to get him to let go of the one he had squirreled away in the back."

"Well, thank you for going through the trouble, dear," Esme says. "As soon as the rose bush matures and blooms, you'll be the very first I give a bouquet to. It will look lovely in a vase up in your room."

This woman is seemingly determined to place at least one floral item in my bedroom. Is she trying to bring out my softer side? She'll be disappointed, I'm afraid. I don't have one.

"I can't wait," I deadpan. I pause a moment and switch topics. "In other news, you both should know I came across something interesting on my way back home this evening. There was a nomad in Forks."

The contentment on Carlisle's face vanishes in an instant. "Alone or part of a coven?"

"Alone. And he was hunting. He had already selected a young girl from town to feed from."

Esme's hand hovers at her gasping mouth. "Oh, no. The poor thing," she whispers. Despite being a vampire herself, she has always maintained a camaraderie with the townspeople who may live around us. I suppose it's her way of staying in touch with her humanity.

"Did he...?" Carlisle arches a brow at me while allowing his question to hang in the air.

"No. I stopped him before he could do any harm." I go on to describe the incident to them in more detail, recalling James' outwardly friendly persona and pointing out his despicable hunting tactics. "I tracked him all the way to Port Angeles before his scent disappeared," I tack on at the end.

Esme hops up from the couch at supersonic speed and pulls me into a hug. She gives a tight squeeze and then backs away enough to look me in the face. "I can't fault you for what you did, Edward. But, I do wish you could have called us to come and help before you confronted him. Nomads are often wild and unpredictable. What if he had put up a fight? You would have been all alone."

"There's no need to worry about me. I kept on guard during the entire ordeal. Besides, need I remind you that I've wrestled Emmett and Jasper enough through the years to know how to take care of myself?"

"You're right, but-" Esme cuts herself off, an odd look suddenly crinkling the corners of her eyes. She leans forward and audibly sniffs my shirt once, twice, and then a third time. Her normally kind voice turns sharp. "Edward...why do I smell freesia on you?"

I extract myself from Esme's hug and shove both hands into my pockets. Esme and Carlisle know where the freesia scent originates. They were the ones who provided me with the Ziploc bag I carry around. Evidently, Bella's scent had been so potent tonight, it continues to linger on me and my clothing.

I am downright astonished I hadn't noticed.

I clear my throat before I speak. "I suppose you smell it because I ran into the girl tonight." Esme locks gazes with me, searching my irises for signs of red within the gold. I put her concerned mind at ease. "I didn't feed from her, Esme. She was the girl James was hunting. I didn't think it wise to leave her there unprotected, so...I drove her home."

Esme breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness," she murmurs. Suddenly, her mouth widens into a broad smile. "How wonderful, Edward! See? I knew acclimating yourself to her scent would help you. Look how strong and self-controlled you've become! It's like what I've always said. You can do nearly anything if you put your mind to it."

My gaze lowers to the carpet while I nod my head. "Yes. Mind over matter."

"Exactly." Her smile softens. "It was so very gallant of you to see Bella safely home. It would have been tragic if that nomad had hurt her."

My eyes immediately flick back up. "I wasn't aware that you knew her name."

Esme's happy face collapses in on itself. "Um. Well... I'm sure you mentioned it to me before."

"No. I have not." I narrow my eyes suspiciously and listen to her thoughts. She's currently reciting the scientific name of wild tree specimens from North America. It's a mental blocking tactic. Which, of course, means there's something she wants to hide from my knowledge.

"Esme," I drawl out, "how did you know the girl's name?"

She continues on with her distracting line of thought. Callitris glaucophylla. Calocedrus decurrens. Chamaecyparis lawsoniana...

"Esme!"

She very reluctantly meets my eye. "Hmm? What did you say, dear?"

I cross my arms and stare her down. "How. Did. You. Know. Her. Name?"

Esme wets her lips and giggles awkwardly. "He, he, he. Um. It's really an amusing story, Edward. You see, a few days ago, I happened to be driving along with the windows rolled down. That's when I noticed Bella's scent was leading in the direction of the grocery store. I - uh - may have gone into said grocery store...just to see what she looks like, mind you." At a rate faster than sound, Esme adds a distressing piece of information. "And I also may have met her."

I rake my hand down my face, fingers clawing into my skin. "I can't believe this. You break into her house one day and try to befriend her the next? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"Oh, I just knew you'd be upset," Esme frets.

"Why, Esme? Why would you do that?"

She throws her hands up helplessly. "I couldn't help it! I tried staying far away - I really did. But she uses coupons, Edward. Coupons! Can you believe it? I just had to get a closer look to make sure I wasn't mistaken. What sort of seventeen year old uses coupons anymore? It's quite commendable, though, if you ask me. You don't see frugality in girls her age very often. She even had a coupon organizer."

My eyebrows snap together in bewilderment. "An organizer?"

"Oh, you know. It's a little pouch you store your coupons in. And hers was simply darling! It had pictures of these little daisies on the front and had compartments representing every section of the grocery store. I wish I had asked her where she had gotten it from..."

"So you intentionally spoke to her?" I emphasize, attempting to nudge Esme back to the subject that matters

"Heavens no. Of course I didn't do it on purpose. I had planned to only watch her from a distance, but Bella ran her cart into mine by accident. She apologized, so I couldn't help but introduce myself after that." Esme smiles weakly. "I'm sorry to have kept our meeting a secret. Since you were struggling with the bloodlust only last week, I knew bringing her up unnecessarily wouldn't be helpful to you. But I was just so curious about her because she's the first person to ever block your abilities. I couldn't help to investigate her at least a little. Also, when I went to her bedroom the other day to fetch that bra for you, I noticed she owned a copy of The House on Mango Street. I just read it recently and it was absolutely phenomenal. I must say she has impeccable taste in literature. So, I was playing with the idea of maybe starting a book club sometime and asking her if she'd like-"

My eyes clench shut as I interrupt. "Don't, Esme. That's too dangerous for her."

"Oh, but I don't want to feed from her, dear. Bella smells lovely, of course, but she really isn't my type."

Carlisle bursts out laughing. I hush him with one foul look. He pretends to rub his nose in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his smile. Leave it to Carlisle to find humor in this potentially disastrous situation.

I turn my attention back to Esme and attempt to reason with her. "I understand your curiosity, but getting too close to the girl is a bad idea. She already has two vampires thirsting for her blood and negatively impacting her life. A third will only add to the chaos. Please let her be, Esme. She deserves to be left in peace."

Esme sighs and nods her head in resignation. "I suppose you're right. But it is a pity. Bella seems like such a sweet girl."

Her offhand comment brings to mind the seductive quality of the girl's blood. Floral, and sugary-sweet.

I frown slightly in remembrance.

"Yes, she is. Too sweet," I grumble.

00000000000000000000

To relieve the stress I've been under as of late, I spend my night unpacking my beloved music collection from numerous moving boxes. I remove each record and cassette carefully and set them on the enormous wall of shelves in my new bedroom. Once the very last album is wedged into place, I stand back and admire my hard work. No matter where I go, these albums always come with me. Every musical genre I care for is represented on that wall, from smooth jazz to thumping rock. Seeing once again the musicians who have kept me company all these long, lonely years brings great comfort to me.

I finally feel at home.

Soon, gray morning light gradually infiltrates my bedroom. My three day weekend is officially at its end and I must return to school. My car's speakers vibrate with the sounds of Peter Gabriel as I speed down the winding, country lanes that make up my morning commute. Once I cross into town, I keep a lookout for Chief Swan. After a thorough scan of a few dozen minds, I am pleased to find him sitting at police headquarters, too focused on his cup of coffee to think about harassing me quite yet.

As soon as the school comes into sight, I hit the stop button on the car's tape deck and shove the cassette in a hidden spot I created underneath the seat. I drive into the parking area designated for students and find a spot in the back, far away from any unobservant idiots who might accidentally scratch my car. Hundreds of mental voices from in and around the school pound my head into oblivion.

Ew. Save the groping in the backseat for later, weirdos. What the hell does Brenda see in Mark anyway? She could do so much better...

Yes! It's pizza day! Better get to the cafeteria quick...

Now, where did I put those rhizopus sporangia slides? I could have sworn...

Just great. I guess Rory slept in late again. I knew hanging around that guy would get her in trouble somehow... A face flashes across this person's thoughts. Although it's seen from a distance, I can make out a sharply defined, masculine profile along with dark-blonde hair.

An ominous feeling settles within me. I shut out everything else going on around me and devote my concentration to this person's mind.

I come to realize I'm listening to the mental voice of Claudia Windham, a girl I often see sitting with Rory Parker during lunch. Claudia and a second girl who I have yet to learn her full name stand near the entrance door leading into the school. They appear to be scanning the parking lot for signs of their friend.

"If Rory gets another tardy slip, she might get suspended. Her folks are gonna flip. She shoulda just told the guy to come back and take her out Friday. Everybody knows that's date night," Claudia remarks.

"Yeah, but you know Rory," Amy chimes in. "She does what she wants, when she wants - and she wanted HIM right then. There's no way we could've talked her out of it."

Claudia nods her head. "I know."

A slow smile curls Amy's lips. "Can't say that I blame her for ditching us last night, though. That guy was pretty cute."

"Maybe... But don't you think it was weird how he didn't at least come say hi to us? He barely even looked our way. You'd think he would want to make a good first impression with her friends if he was really interested in Rory long term."

In the back of Claudia's mind, she recalls driving to a secluded area in the country. It's night, and in the background hangs a business sign: Turner's Rock Crushing & Gravel. I recognize it instantly. The old, dilapidated building lies a few miles outside of town. Again, Claudia pictures the dusty-blonde man. I receive a much clearer vision of him this time around. The man stands in front of the defunct business and watches Rory as she walks up to where her friends wait in a car. He wears a leather vest, black boots that have seen better days, and a calculating smirk.

James.

I'm up and out of my car before Claudia has even completed her thought.

I breeze past the two girls waiting by the entrance door and head inside the school. My sights are set on the pay phone located outside of the front office. Digging out a quarter from my front pocket, I drop it in and dial in the phone number to the Cullen home.

"Hello," Esme answers in her warbling lilt.

"Where's Carlisle?" I rush out.

"He left for the hospital ten minutes ago. Why?"

I drag a hand through my hair and heave a heavy sigh. "It's James." Noticing a group of acne-blessed eavesdroppers watching me nearby, my voice lowers drastically. "I think the nomad I had a run-in with last night has returned to Forks. James was seen with another girl from the high school and I'm almost certain she's gone missing. I'm going to head over to Turner's Rock Crushing & Gravel. It's a few miles to the east of town. That's the place where I believe she was last seen alive."

"We'll be there right away," Esme responds without question. Then the line goes dead.

I hang up the phone and head towards the door, contemplating the seriousness of the situation as I do so. We'll need to do a thorough sweep of the area. And fast. James circled back to town and did exactly what I asked him not to do - which was hunting the humans around Forks. He may be somewhere close by at this very moment, scheming of more ways to stir up trouble. The Volturi generally frown upon vampires who feed too often from one sparsely populated area. Creating numerous missing persons and/or leaving a few bloodless corpses laying around a small town has a tendency of drawing attention. And if you possess oddly pale skin and a vaguely intimidating demeanor, you become the prime suspect in the eyes of the townspeople. James and his sickening hunting method threatens to blow my family's cover. Worse still, it could bring the Volturi's wrath upon us all.

As I slip back outside into the gray morning, I make a solemn promise to myself:

When I find James, I will destroy him.

I take one look at my car in the parking lot and decide to leave it there for now. Tracking is done much quicker on foot. Next, I monitor the thoughts of the many students assembled around me, waiting for an opportunity to make my escape sight unseen. A car full of rowdy teens soon zooms into the parking area, drawing everyone's attention as the engine revs repeatedly. I quickly disappear behind the school. No one notices. I set my sights on the wooded lot nearby and melt into its welcoming darkness.

Then I take off like a bullet.

Leaves and branches slap my face as I run, but, of course, they cause me no harm. I hop over tree stumps and ravines like a gazelle. When I come across houses, I keep a wide berth but do not otherwise worry about being seen. It's unlikely a human would notice me running through the forest. I would be nothing except a blur in their eyes. Once I reach a certain rural road miles outside of town, I come to a halt. I walk slowly and concentrate on the scents swirling around me. Because I have come into contact with Rory before, I am well aware of what she smells like. It's a citrusy, slightly medicinal aroma.

I pick up on her scent almost right away.

It leads me like a trail of breadcrumbs down the road towards the old rock crushing facility. The place is obviously industrial and not very impressive. Windows are boarded up and paint peels from the sides. Weeds are scattered everywhere you look.

In the exact middle of the parking area is James' scent.

It merges with Rory's in a way that hints at their former close proximity. Their combined scent trail weaves its way into the forest located at the back of the property. At the end of the rugged path, I come upon one of the many streams the Olympic Peninsula boasts. It's not as wide as a river, though it is several feet deep in most places. I tilt my head down and begin searching the area for clues. Two sets of footprints are visible in the dirt. One set is small, around the same shoe size as Rosalie or Esme. The other set was clearly made by a man. They both lead me to a large tree laying on its side. Based upon the positions of the footprints, I assume James and Rory sat down on the log for a while. I frown once I spot the male's bootprints leading off by themselves. Strangely, many of these prints are also partially obscured. Two long lines have been dug on top of some of them, creating trench-like indentations in the dirt all the way to the stream. I drop to my knees above them and inhale. They smell faintly of Rory.

The truth strikes me like a lightning bolt.

The lines were made by the heels of Rory's shoes. After feeding from her, I hypothesize, James dragged her like a rag doll to the water. I pause and imagine him dumping Rory into the rushing current, her lifeless body then floating down the stream.

During my rebellious youth, I brought justice against murderers and rapists. Every single one of them had once committed unspeakable acts of violence, yet none had ever been caught. I inflicted the only punishment they would ever receive in this world. But as their sinful blood gushed down my parched throat, I never rejoiced in their deaths. My conscience would not allow me that pleasure. I experienced enormous, gut-wrenching guilt each and every time I took a life. But, I have a feeling James isn't like me or my family. He holds not an ounce of remorse for killing a silly, shallow girl whose only crime was trusting him.

Although it's useless, I plunge into the ice-cold stream and search for her. As the fast moving water pulls me along, I dunk my head underneath the surface. I see no sign of Rory in the watery depths. Roughly a quarter of a mile downstream, something out of place calls my attention. It's a white object tangled amid a heap of debris along the bank. I swim over and take a closer look.

It's a purse.

I open the flap and dig through its contents. There's the typical makeup products you often find within a woman's handbag. I ignore those things and locate a small wallet hiding in an inner pocket. There's a few damp dollar bills, some loose change, but no identification card. Then I spy a hairbrush laying at the bottom of the purse. A few red hairs are embedded within the bristles, the shade matching Rory's exactly.

I sigh, set the purse down far away from the water, and continue my search. All thoughts of retrieving her body come to an end once the stream merges with the Quillayute. The much larger river flows for only a few miles more before meeting the Pacific. Anything entering those waters will be swept out to sea and dealt with swiftly by the creatures who consume decaying matter. James couldn't have found a better way to rid himself of the body.

With clothes dripping wet, I turn around and run at top speed back to the scene of the hunt. I find Esme there waiting for me, her face pinched.

"Where have you been?" she demands. "I worried this whole time that you wandered off to confront that nomad all by yourself."

I shake the water from my head before answering. "I was searching for the missing girl I told you about. I think James dumped her in the stream after he was done with her. If she's lucky, perhaps one day what's left of her will wash ashore somewhere along the coast," I end with a frown.

"How terrible," Esme murmurs. "He could have at least left her family something to bury."

I try not to dwell on thoughts of Rory's family at the moment. Too depressing. Instead, I take a quick look around and notice someone missing. "Where's Carlisle? Didn't he come with you?"

"He did. But once he got a whiff of the nomad's scent, he took off running. Carlisle wanted to make sure he couldn't trace it back to Forks, you see. I would hope the nomad wouldn't do something as outrageous as hunting in broad daylight on Main Street. It would be terribly careless of him. Though, I suppose it doesn't hurt to check."

I nod absentmindedly. Then my mind focuses back on tracking James. I put myself in his shoes and ask myself a question.

What would I do after disposing of a body?

The answer: I would try to eliminate any evidence that I was at the scene. That's vampire rule number one. However, James doesn't appear to have worried about that much. His footprints are all over the place. This leads me to believe he left it this way intentionally - the equivalent of leaving a business card behind as proof he was here. Perhaps he thinks of Rory's murder as an excellent way to rub it in my face that I failed to keep him away from Forks.

I go back to tracing the footprints he left behind, following them until they meet the water's edge. This is where James's scent trail ends as well.

My head jerks up.

Of course.

I leap over the stream and land in a crouch on the opposite side. I walk up and down the bank like a madman, my nostrils inhaling everything around me. A mile upstream, I finally locate his scent again. After a moment's reflection, I conclude that James waded through the water quite a ways before crossing the stream. Esme, who had been following my progress from the other side, decides to hop over and join me on the search now that we have something to work with. We track the scent as it meanders randomly through the forest. Minutes into the pursuit, the scent trail shifts to a decidedly more straightforward path and heads south. This is the direction we travel for the next eighty or so miles. We make decent progress until we almost reach the town of Aberdeen. Here, rainclouds dump a deluge of water from above.

All signs of James vanish.

Esme and I grudgingly admit defeat for now and head back to Forks. We're almost there when we run into Carlisle. He listens attentively as we explain how James escaped our grasp.

"Did you come across anything?" I ask afterwards.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I did," Carlisle answers. "I think I found out how James slipped back into the area. There's a log truck parked at the sawmill with his scent all over it. Other than that, I couldn't find a trace of his scent anywhere in town."

I frown at the news. The sawmill barely lies outside of the city limits. "Any sign of the driver?"

"Not in Forks. But I heard up in Sappho an unidentified male was found dead along the highway leading to Port Angeles. Neck looked to have been broken."

I clench my hands into fists, attempting to hold back the roar in my throat. Sappho is a tiny hamlet twelve miles up the road. James has been on the Olympic Peninsula for not even twenty-four hours and already he has claimed the lives of two people. I'm willing to bet he killed the truck driver without even feeding from him. His taste for nubile teenage girls has spoiled him, evidently.

And with that fresh on my mind, a face flashes to the forefront of my thoughts. It's heart-shaped and delicate, with long lashes framing a pair of chocolate brown eyes.

Bella.

The events from the evening before crash into me, one by one. I remember James' fierce determination to drink from Bella's throat. I remember his quiet anger towards me for denying him the pleasure. And, I remember how despite my warning to leave her alone, he still hoped to steal her away.

New worries nag at me. What if killing one teenage girl from Forks isn't enough for him? What if he isn't satisfied until he feeds from the girl who previously rejected both him and the cruel games he plays? All he needs is for Bella to wander off alone again. Then, he'll be free to do an ambush and drink from her until she's dead.

I come to only one conclusion: I need to warn Bella somehow.

"I'm going back to school," I blurt out of nowhere.

The conversation Carlisle was conducting with Esme freezes mid-sentence. His golden-blonde brows knit together at me. "But it's almost noon, Edward. You may as well take off from school for the rest of the day."

I give my head a stubborn shake. "No. I can't do that. James has a preference when it comes to who he hunts. Teenage girls. And where are most of the town's teenagers at this very moment?"

"The high school," Esme breathes out, her horrified eyes widening.

"Right. I believe having me there would at least discourage James from hunting them during the day."

Carlisle rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. Eventually, he nods his head. "You have a point. I guess we should start doing patrols around the town too... just in case. That should be an effective deterrent. Maybe if he comes across all three of our scents, he'll think twice about crossing into our territory again."

"I'll take the night shift," I volunteer without missing a beat.

"And I'll take the mornings and early afternoons. My gardening club doesn't begin until 3:30 anyway," Esme chimes in.

Carlisle nods. "That sounds fine. I can patrol from late afternoon everyday until it's Edward's turn to take over at night."

After the three of us agree to our schedules, we break apart. Esme begins her patrol around Forks while Carlisle and I head home to change. I run up the stairs and race to my bedroom. I pull out of my damp, dirty clothes and dress myself in jeans and a clean t-shirt. When I pass him in the hallway, Carlisle presents me with a new doctor's excuse to explain my absence yesterday and my tardiness of today. Then I'm out the front door.

It's deep into forth period when I arrive back at school. Before I head inside, I do a quick check to ensure James hasn't been snooping around the campus. I find nothing. I provide the school secretary with my excuse and walk to French class. The room quietens as I enter it. Ms. Jones accepts my pass from the front office and then says to take a seat. As she goes back to teaching her students how to conjugate French verbs, I turn my attention elsewhere, only half-listening to the lesson. I diligently sift through every mind in the building and weigh the value of each one. For those that are unhelpful, I ignore for now. Only a select few provide me with the valuable information I need. It's funny how things can change drastically in such a short span of time. Because, right now, I'm doing exactly what I forced myself not to do all of last week.

I am searching for the girl.

All I want to do is find Bella, pull her aside for a few moments, and give her a fair warning. I'll tell her to be careful for the time being and advise her against walking the streets alone. Ideally, this is a conversation which should be conducted privately, but I doubt I will be afforded that luxury. The flock of nosy busybodies who keep close tabs on me would notice if I were to seek out one particular student and speak voluntarily. Then, they would inevitably take encouragement from this new development and come to believe I am finally lightening up from my former gruff exterior.

That's the very last thing I would want to happen.

The small degree of fear I've placed within the student body is the only thing that's keeping them from hounding me day and night. If that were to disappear, the students here would again bombard me with idiotic requests. Like, "hanging out" with them after school, eating cheeseburgers at the diner, and engaging in their conversations about what color palettes look best on Christie Brinkley. It's imperative I take measures to keep those things from happening, or else I might kill someone. Obviously, I wouldn't feed from them afterwards even if I did. Annoying people tend to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

After much searching through the hundreds of minds at Forks High, I eventually spot a familiar face out of the corner of someone's eye. I switch through several student perspectives until I receive a better view. Bella sits at her desk in Art class, which is located on the far side of the building. Her face is tilted down at a piece of paper as she draws the bowl of fruit the teacher set at the front of the room. As the bell signaling the end of fourth period rings, I watch her rise from her desk, stuff her drawing inside of her book bag, and quickly move out of sight of the person whose mind I had been using to keep track of her.

Frustrated, I jump up from my desk in French class and scramble to catch up. I have to force myself to walk at a human pace. Dozens of students casually stroll down the hallway and hinder my progress. Meanwhile, I switch from mind to mind until I locate her again. Bella yanks out a couple of textbooks from her book bag and shoves them inside a locker. I notice the new mind I'm monitoring appears to be paying very close attention to what Bella is doing. I recognize the mental voice too. It's Heather Sawyer, a person I share seventh period U.S History class. For a time, Heather stops listening to the mindless chatter of the friend beside her and drifts off in thought. I catch a glimpse of a distant memory of hers. I spy a young, smiling girl being pushed on a tire swing. There's a couple of missing front teeth, and her brown hair hangs in long braids, but it's clear that I'm seeing Bella from her childhood.

"Higher, Heather! Higher!" young Bella yells in the memory.

The person whose mind I'm in laughs and pushes the swinging tire harder. "OK. Better hold on tight!" she replies in her past childish voice.

Oh. Heather must be one of Bella's friends, I conclude.

Out of nowhere, the scene with young Bella and Heather shatters into a million pieces. Heather shakes her head slightly and blinks at a rapid speed, as though she is awakening from a dream.

"Hey. What's wrong with you? Are you sick or something?" Heather's companion wonders aloud.

Shit, Heather thinks. I bet Crystal saw me looking over at Bella. Better come up with a cover story...

Heather snorts, closes her locker door, and begins slowly walking. "Am I sick? Yeah. I guess I am. I mean... I just saw THAT." She jerks her head in Bella's direction as they pass by her. "That blouse makes me want to gag. It's such an eyesore! It's buttoned up to the neck and has like zero appeal. Even a bag lady living on the streets of Seattle wouldn't dare wear it."

Crystal giggles into her hand. At the same time, Bella's back stiffens straight as a board. I don't need to read her thoughts to know what has happened. She obviously heard Heather's remark. Slowly, she turns in place and locks gazes with Heather.

God, Heather mentally huffs. Why does she have to look so pathetic? It's not my fault she makes it so easy...

A moment later, Bella loudly slams her locker closed and disappears down the hall.

"Huh. I wonder what her problem is?" asks Crystal.

Heather slaps on a smirk. "Maybe she's rushing home to change into something else... like a shirt that doesn't look like she just inherited it from her dead grandma." The two of them laugh and then switch to a different topic.

I furrow my brows as I maneuver around students in the hallway. I see now that I was mistaken. Heather is no friend of Bella's. At least...not anymore.

Bella is already seated by the time I enter the cafeteria. Using the perspectives of those around us, I observe her. She avoided the lunch line today and is instead eating a paper sack lunch. I retrieve a lunch tray, sit across the room from her, and wait for her friends to join her table. No one ever does. It's unusual for a person her age to sit alone and never talk to anyone. Teenagers typically crave the company of others. Yet she appears content with being by herself. Though, I have to say what intrigues me more is the look on her face. It's almost empty, lacking any expression whatsoever. As a vampire, I often wipe my face clean. It's an effective way to communicate my lack of wanting to interact with anyone who may be around me. But why a young, seemingly normal, human girl would behave similarly is beyond me.

Like I have said before... what a strange, strange girl.

Once Bella has consumed more than half of her sandwich, she pulls out a thick book from underneath the table. And just as I did last Monday, I try to catch a glimpse of the book's title. I am unsuccessful. Is it a textbook and she's studying for an upcoming test? Is she reading one of those Danielle Steele romance novels? Or, has she found a self-help book on how to conceal her thoughts from snooping, telepathic vampires? It's beyond irritating how I can't deduce the answer for myself.

A couple of tables away from Bella sits Claudia Windham. A steady stream of people come up to her during the lunch period. Each person seeks to question her regarding the newest scandal spreading around the school.

Rory Parker ran away from home last night.

I learn that while I was out searching for Rory this morning, Chief Swan showed up at school and spoke with a few of her closest friends while the principal looked on. Evidently, the police have been informed of Rory's disappearance and are gathering information. Judging by her thoughts, Claudia was surprisingly honest and told him everything she knew.

"I still can't believe Rory never went back home last night," Claudia says to her lunchroom audience. "I know she's been having problems with her parents, but I never expected her to just run off with some random guy out of the blue. She could have at least said goodbye to us first..."

Near the end of the lunch period, Bella leaves the cafeteria a few minutes early. I follow behind her with the expectation that the Chemistry lab will be empty long enough for me to speak with her alone. Unfortunately, Ms. Saffle enters the room right before I do. I go to sit at the back of the class and strategize my next move.

After school, I tell myself. I'll warn her before she leaves the campus. It's better this way. There will be less people around to eavesdrop.

During my final class of the day, the U.S. History teacher springs a pop quiz on her students. It concerns the social and economic fallout of the Great Depression. My pencil flies down the page and circles in the answers in ten seconds flat. I wait until a few other students have turned in their quizzes before giving the teacher my own. Then, I return to my seat and continue to monitor Bella's current whereabouts. Using the mind of her teacher and the students surrounding her, I see that Bella is only a few classrooms down the hall. Finally, a stroke of luck for me. I'll be able to reach her fairly quickly once the school day ends. The strange thing about it all is that I find myself keeping an eye on her with nearly the same interest as I would if I were watching a television show or movie. I'm watching closely as she gets up to sharpen her pencil. I'm there when her Calculus teacher asks her to work out a complicated problem on the chalkboard. And, I'm wondering what she's thinking about when she languidly twirls her hair around a finger and stares out of the window.

At the end of the very long hour, the bell finally rings. Twenty students in my classroom, including myself, rush for the door.

"Edward Cullen."

I stop walking and look behind me. My teacher, Ms. Stringer, observes me with cold gray eyes.

"May I speak with you a moment, please?" She says this as though it's a request, though we both know it is a command. Then I overhear in her thoughts exactly why she wants me to stay behind.

She believes I cheated today.

How else could the new student who barely attended school these past few days know all those answers on a pop quiz?

My teeth gnash together, angry at how oblivious I had become this afternoon. I had been so wrapped up in monitoring Bella's movements, I largely ignored the people around me and their dull, droning thoughts.

How stupid of me.

I walk up to Ms. Stringer's desk and try to keep my demeanor calm. She waits until the classroom is empty before speaking.

"Edward, please explain how you were able to correctly answer the questions on today's pop quiz," she says.

"I've studied this material before."

Ms. Stringer cocks her head. "Really? You've studied the Great Depression? And you know all about the events which triggered the most devastating economic disaster to ever hit this nation?"

"Yes," I answer simply. Not only have I studied that era of history, I lived through it. I was visiting New York City during the fall of 1929. A couple of stockbrokers whose worried thoughts I happened to run across hinted at possible trouble on the horizon. Carlisle, Esme, and I pulled most of our investments two weeks before the crash on Wall Street. In the years after the depression struck, we pinched our pennies and tried not to live too extravagantly. We came out fine. But I saw many things during that time which were not "fine". There were the broke and desperate unemployed workers of America, searching for jobs which no longer existed. There were thousands of homes whose mortgages came due and their owners could no longer pay. Then there were the frighteningly thin children who weren't sure when or where their next decent meal might appear. I saw it all. Every last horrifying bit.

So, I believe my grasp of the subject is far better than this mere baby boomer teacher sitting in front of me.

Ms. Stringer huffs a sigh at my response. I hate it when they don't fess up, she thinks to herself. It's such a waste of time...

She digs through her desk drawer, pulls out several sheets of paper, and then attempts to hand them over. "Since you say you've studied this before," she begins icily, "why don't you go ahead and take the full test?"

As she says this, I stand immobile and search for Bella through several students' perspectives. I find her outside busily unlocking a bicycle from the rack.

If I don't get out there soon, I realize, Bella will be long gone.

It's time to do what I normally avoid.

I must turn the charm back on.

I flash the teacher a small smile and attempt to sound pleasant for once. "I would be happy to take the test, Ms. Stringer. But, I'm sorry to report that I'm supposed to be somewhere after school today. Why don't we schedule the test for first thing in the morning? I can come before school begins."

The teacher's mouth lifts into a false smile of her own. Oh? So you can make a cheat sheet instead of just copying the answers off your neighbors? I don't think so, mister... "Sorry, I can't do that, Edward. You have to do it right now. Or, you and I can take a little trip down to Principal Lang's office. Take your pick."

My face crumples into a scowl. Since I haven't used my charm much in the last few decades, I suppose it's gotten a little rusty.

I snatch the papers from her hands and stalk over to a desk on the front row. Ms. Stringer never takes her eyes off me as I fill out the test. However, she isn't aware that I'm multitasking. I'm keeping track of Bella. A boy whose mind I'm currently using happens to notice Bella as she mounts her bicycle. His eyes land on her rounded behind and refuses to pry themselves away. But, what the boy doesn't do is take note of which direction she went after she begins pedaling away. A friend of his called for his attention at that exact moment. He glanced away and now she's gone from sight.

There's a strong urge telling me to run out the door before she leaves campus. I fight it, try to relax, and concentrate on completing the test. I can't afford bringing any more attention to myself or my family. I have to pretend to be your average, ordinary student and do as my teacher has asked.

Everything will work out, I tell myself. I'll just go to her home after I finish this stupid test and speak with her then.

Nine minutes go by. I rise from my desk and present the teacher with my test. She looks from it to me a couple of times before she utters a word. "Did you do all three sheets?" she asks, arching her eyebrow. I understand her skepticism. I may not have done the test at vampire speed, but I did complete it quicker than most humans.

"Front and back," I respond.

"Hmm." Ms. Stringer grabs a red pen and prepares to strike through all of my incorrect answers.

She finds none.

Once again, she meets my eye. This time her expression is more surprised than anything else. I give a seemingly innocent, half shrug. "I told you. I've studied this subject before."

Her lips purse slightly. Then she nods her head. "I can see that." She clears her throat and sits up straighter in her chair. "You passed. You may leave now, Edward."

I grab my things and flee before anything else about myself raises her suspicions.

The school hallway is almost completely empty. I run at a human pace and fling the exit doors open. Only a small handful of students are still in the parking lot, none of which pay any attention to my presence. Immediately, I get to work and follow the scent of freesia, from the bicycle rack and all the way down to the street. I expect it to head right. It does not. It appears that Bella turned left instead of going home.

I rush over to my car and fire up the engine. Once I reach the street, I roll down my window. I breathe in the outside air and allow the sweet, stinging freesia to guide me. Simultaneously, I search far and wide for someone who might be watching her. I don't come across anything of interest until I notice the mental voice of a somber, guilt-ridden man. He sits with an auburn-haired woman in a drab, all white office. And, sitting across from them both is Chief Charles Swan.

The woman drags a tissue across her tear-stained face. "So that's it? That's all you can do?"

Chief Swan leans back in his chair and exhales. "We spoke with several of her friends today, Mrs. Parker. They all said the same thing: She was unhappy at home and often mentioned how much she wanted to leave. And since we have no evidence showing she left the area against her will, there's really not much more we can do at the moment. My advice for the both of you is to try to relax for the time being and wait for Rory to come home on her own."

"What? I can't do that! My baby's out there somewhere! What if she's hungry? What if she's hurt? She needs to come home right now!" She pauses and narrows her eyes. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up in the morning and find out that your daughter didn't even sleep in her bed the night before? Do you have any idea how it's tearing me apart not knowing where she is?" She immediately bursts into more tears. Mr. Parker puts his arm around his wife and pats her back.

"I understand how you feel, Mrs. Parker," Chief Swan says. "I really do. But, our hands are tied for now. Runaway cases are common at Rory's age, and there's only so many officers available to search for someone who doesn't want to be found yet. Most runaways come to their senses within the first few days after leaving. Rory will probably get homesick and come back on her own." He selects a piece of paper from a drawer and lays it on his desk. "But just in case, here's what we CAN do. We'll fill out this Missing Person report as best as possible and send out word to every police station in the county, plus Seattle. That's our best chance at finding her. Would you like to do that?"

Mrs. Parker pulls herself together and nods her consent. Chief Swan uncaps a pen and prepares to write. "OK. Let's get started then. I need your daughter's full name, please. First, middle, and last."

Mrs. Parker wrinkles her forehead. "Why? She only goes by her nickname."

"We need to write down everything we can, even if it's something you might think is unimportant. The more information we give, the better the odds we have at finding her. I need her full name, what she was wearing the last time you saw her, hair and eye color, approximate weight and height, any scars or birth marks..."

Unable to watch their futile attempt at finding Rory for a second longer, I veer my attention away from the discussion. Thanks to James, merely filling out a Missing Person report won't help Rory now.

I continue following Bella's scent, my car practically crawling it's going so slow. Based on the way her scent is traveling, I suspect she made a trip to either the downtown area or the Thriftway. But once I arrive at the four-way stop at the end of the street, I realize she did not keep going straight - as she would have done if she were going shopping. Instead, her scent leads eastward, thereby taking a route she should never go alone.

Bella went straight to the area where Rory Parker was last seen alive.

00000000000000000000

A/N-

Next Chapter- Ruh-roh. What could Bella be up to now? You'll see soon since the next chapter will be in BPOV. (Hint: Edward won't be happy. A touch of hilarity will ensue.)

Thanks for reading! :-)