A/N- This chapter starts off in Edward's POV, switches to Third Person POV in the middle, and then swings back to Edward again. It was either setting it up this way OR splitting this into two confusing, unsatisfactory chapters. The plot made more sense this way. So, here you go. :-)

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Chapter 11 - The Escalation

Edward

This isn't natural, I say to myself for the thousandth time. There has to be a rational explanation as to why I can't hear her thoughts.

Bella sits crossed-legged several feet away, her face aimed at the boombox playing one of my many mixed tapes. Her scent continues to taunt and burn my throat, but I suppose having her mental silence driving me more insane than even my thirst serves as a decent means of distraction. It's been two weeks since we agreed to meet at the meadow occasionally. Subtracting weekends and rainy days, that means I have had unfettered access to her and her brain a total of five times. And, much to my displeasure, I am no closer to understanding why I can't read her mind than the day when I first laid eyes on her.

"Have you ever had a head injury?" I ask out of nowhere. "One severe enough that you had to go to the hospital?"

Bella reluctantly rips her eyes away from the tape player. "No."

"How about a brain tumor?"

She scrunches her face like a prune. "Of course not. What kind of a question is that?"

Well, there goes another theory of mine down the drain...

I shrug and attempt to sound nonchalant. "Nothing. Just making conversation." She sends me a strange look - one that's impossible to interpret - and then refocuses back on the music.

Although I am a complete failure so far when it comes to solving the puzzle of her silent mind, there is one thing I know for certain about her.

Bella prefers listening as opposed to talking.

Other than a question here and there concerning the music playing, she remains largely quiet in the meadow. I would almost believe I was sitting here all alone if not for the sound of her thumping heart and the alluring scent assaulting my nose. This is a blessing, I suppose. Had Bella turned out to be one of those people who likes hearing themselves talk twenty-four/seven, I don't believe I would have been able to stomach being around her as often.

Back when we first made our deal, I was somewhat doubtful she would be able to keep her word and say nothing of our meetings. It's normal for a person her age to share secrets with their friends. However, I eventually came to realize two things.

One: Bella kept her end of the bargain and hasn't told a soul. I've monitored the inner thoughts of everyone at Forks High School, and not once have I heard anyone connect meadows, music, or myself to her.

And, two: Bella has no friends.

That second point surprised me more than the first. I haven't a clue as to why Bella only speaks to her teachers at school. Students walk by her without giving a hello, smile, or even a brief head nod of acknowledgement. Though, sometimes I do overhear curiosity about Bella rattling around inside of their empty little heads - especially from some of the boys. They peek at her with lust-filled eyes but remain annoyingly distant. If they are truly interested in her in that way, why do they pretend she doesn't exist?

It makes no sense.

A lack of communication skills can't be much of an issue for her either. Bella has mouthed off at me more than once, even while I've flashed her glares that would frighten most jocks twice her size. She appears immune to both telepathic abilities and my powers of intimidation. So, you would think she would have no problem at all interacting with the average, non-threatening teenagers roaming the high school's hallways.

Like a break in a dam's wall, my question bursts out into the open. "Bella... why don't you talk to anyone at school?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Yes, you could. But, I believe we've been over this before. I don't like most people, so why should I bother talking to a bunch of idiots? It's doubtful you feel the same as I do. There must be another reason why you choose to sit at a lunchroom table all by yourself every single day."

Bella heaves a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping. "I don't talk to anyone there because no one wants to talk to me."

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't have to 'think' anything. I know it for a fact. I'm Chief Swan's daughter. Remember?"

"What does he have to do with this?"

"You seriously think anyone at that school would want to hang out with me after what my dad's done to this town? He's demonized listening to music, for god's sake. They all hate me by default."

"They don't all hate you." I'm thinking of one boy in particular. He spends most of Chemistry class sneaking glances at her when he thinks no one is looking.

Bella huffs a laugh and shakes her head. "Sure. And you'll be seeing me on Magnum, P.I. come next episode. I'm Tom Selleck's long lost sister."

Ah. Here is another trait about Bella I have uncovered through my research. When irritated, she fights back. Her weapon of choice: Sarcasm.

"OK. Now it's my turn to ask a question," she says in an obvious effort to change the subject. "How come I never see you eat anything at lunch?"

My face remains relaxed amid my internal panic. I see that while I've been quietly observing her, she has been doing the same to me.

After a moment's pause, an answer flows off my tongue. "I don't trust the food they serve at school. It normally looks like something a sick cat hacked up. I just buy it to help fund the cafeteria workers' paychecks and then eat something else later."

"If you don't like it, why don't you ask your mom to make you something better to take with you?"

I tsk at the very thought. "Asking Esme to make lunch would end up being an even worse disaster. She has absolutely no idea how to cook."

Bella's forehead creases in a musing sort of way. "Huh. Well, I guess that explains why I saw her buying a jar of pickled pig's feet at the Thriftway once."

This stumps me.

What in the world could be wrong with pickled pig's feet? Hmm. I'd better tell Esme to stop buying them just in case...

A decent explanation pops into my head. "Esme buys exotic foods to experiment with sometimes, but she rarely gets around to actually using what she bought," I inform Bella. "I'm sure the jar is still hiding in a cabinet in our kitchen and will stay there until it expires. It doesn't matter, though. We tend to eat out a lot."

"Oh. Like at the diner?"

"No. We prefer eating out of town." At the National Park, for example. The bears are top notch there.

I watch the wheels in Bella's head spin, which is always a great source of worry for me. There's no telling what the girl might be thinking. Thankfully, the tape player chooses this exact moment to make a loud clicking sound, signaling that the cassette inside of it has reached its end. I flip the tape over and hit the Play button. A brand new song by Wham diverts Bella's attention away from the dining habits of me and my family.

Every time she has visited the meadow, I've noticed at some point Bella would pull out a book and read it like she's starving. That's exactly what she does today too. It appears her interests are spread over a wide area. One time she brought a classic romance novel involving the English moorlands, selfish lovers, and petty revenge. A couple of days later, it was a biography of Harry S Truman. Not once have I accurately predicted what genre she'll bring next.

"What are you reading?" I ask her.

She peeks up from her book. "Gee, you're just chock full of questions today."

I arch my brow at her and wait for my answer.

Bella rolls her eyes for the second time in ten minutes. "Frankenstein."

I turn my nose up in disgust.

The book falls to her lap. "Hey. What's with the face?" she wonders. "Do you not like Frankenstein?"

"What's there to like?"

"Lots of things."

I give her a condescending head nod as though I'm agreeing with what she said. "Ah, yes. What a wonderful story it is. Man creates monster, monster destroys everything in his wake. I can really see how you would enjoy it."

She fires a look of disapproval at me. "Have you even read the book before?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I have." In 1921. Once was enough.

"Well, you forgot the part in your summary where the monster was abandoned by the man who created him. The monster deserves at least a little sympathy."

One of my hands clenches into a fist. "Monsters who kill innocent people don't deserve sympathy."

"Yes, they do. If Doctor Frankenstein had shown some love to the monster instead of immediately running off like a coward, maybe things would have worked out differently. So, if anybody's the 'monster' in this story, I'd say it's Doctor Frankenstein himself."

A frown dominates my face. "Possibly. But some people are born monsters, and ultimately, they can never escape what they truly are inside. They can hide it to a certain extent, yes. But, evil has a tendency of worming its way to the surface eventually. That's what happens when you create a monster and neglect giving it a soul."

And I speak this from personal experience.

Bella shakes her head at me, stubborn as a mule. "I don't believe that for one second," she retorts. A crack of thunder rumbles in the distance. Bella glances at the sky. Dark, foreboding clouds are rapidly sweeping in. She rises up from the grass and dusts herself off. "Well... I better get going before the rain gets here. Thanks for letting me listen to your music."

I nod a silent goodbye and keep one eye glued to her as she leaves the meadow. The sound of her pounding heartbeat decreases in its volume the farther she walks down the trail. I jump up once I estimate she can no longer see me, grab my boombox and cassette case, and begin following her. This is what I find myself doing every time we meet up. It's not safe to let her stroll through the forest or bike alone down country lanes while James is still on the loose. So, I keep my distance and watch out for her from afar. I'm not satisfied until Bella crosses back into the city limits. That's when I usually back off and go about my business.

But today isn't like most days. The regular, harmless gray clouds floating above us are being plowed down by ones of a menacing coal black. The sky resembles a wool blanket, the storm clouds filtering out a majority of what little sunlight we normally receive in Forks. Then the rain comes. Light sprinkles change to heavy, pounding sheets of rain within a short amount of time. I pull off my jean jacket and wrap it around my belongings in hopes of protecting them from the downpour. With that job done, I check on Bella's progress. She may be a hundred yards up ahead, but I can plainly see that her walking pace has slowed considerably. The dirt trail has turned into a soupy, muddy sludge. Then, as though I'm seeing it all happening in slow motion, she takes another step. One foot after another slips out from underneath her.

I'm there and catching her fall before even a tenth of a second has elapsed.

I've caught her with one arm hooked around her back while my other arm continues to juggle my things. It takes a moment for her to register what has happened. She looks up at me and widens her eyes into mine. "What are you doing?" she yelps through the drip, drip of the rain.

"I think it's called 'keeping you from falling'," I answer her dryly.

She swallows. "Oh. I, uh... didn't realize you were behind me." I gently push her up into a standing position and take a step back. The hood of her jacket partially slipped down during the fall, thereby dampening some of her hair. She pulls the hood back over her head and then stares at me. My eyes follow hers and discovers that part of my tape player is now exposed to the elements. I readjust my jean jacket around it until it's safe again.

"You need another rain jacket? I've got an extra one in my bag," Bella offers.

"No thanks. The tape player is covered up better now."

She frowns. "Yeah, but what about you? You're getting soaked too."

I glance down again and take a closer look at myself. I'm standing in a downpour while wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. Realization slowly dawns upon me. For the first time ever, I have a very good idea of what this girl is thinking.

Bella believes this cold, rainy weather will make me sick if I don't take precautions.

That's probably the most amusing thought I've had in a very, very long time.

I try to wave off her concern. "I'll be fine. I can handle a little cold rain."

Thunder shakes the ground under our feet, warning us that things might get worse soon. I urge her to hurry before that happens. Rain pelts our backs while the wind sends dead leaves flying all around, swirling like miniature tornadoes. While we walk, I stay within arm's reach of Bella and search for signs of another imminent fall. Falling means broken bones and possible bleeding cuts - a recipe for disaster considering my fragile grip on my self-control. However, she manages to stay on her feet this time and requires no further assistance. As soon as we reach the end of the trail, she rushes over to a cluster of bushes and out comes her bicycle from its hiding place. A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, its boom occurring simultaneously. Bella's eyes flick upwards to watch the light show taking place.

"Wow. That was a close one," she observes. She turns her back on me, lifts the bike's kickstand, hops on the seat, and prepares to pedal away without saying another word.

I wedge my foot in front of her bike's tire before she has ridden five inches.

She blinks in surprise but recovers quickly. "Please move, Edward. You're in the way."

"Get off the bike."

She glares out from under the hood of her rain jacket. "Are you crazy? I've got to get home! Now, move!"

"If you try to leave on this bicycle, you won't ever make it back home alive. This metal contraption is a lightning rod in disguise." I point over at my car with my free hand. "Go get in and I'll drive you home myself."

"But I can't leave my bike-" Another bolt of lightning cracks like a whip above our heads.

"I'll handle it! Stop making excuses and just get in the car!" I bark at her.

She sends me another, more menacing scowl. "Are you sure you're only seventeen, Edward? Because to me you're sounding more and more like a cranky old man!" Then she thrusts the bike over to my care and stomps away.

I frown at Bella's retreating figure.

I was right about her. She is far, far too perceptive.

Pushing that worrisome thought from my mind, I toss my boom box into the backseat of the Jaguar. I dig out the coil of rope I keep on hand and use it to tie her bike to the trunk. The job is complete within around thirty seconds. I feel Bella's eyes drilling through my skull the instant I slide into the car with her.

"That was quick," she points out.

I stick the key into the ignition and shrug. "I guess being rained on makes people want to move faster."

She does a little humming sound in the back of her throat but doesn't comment further.

Water has a strange effect on vampires. It has a tendency to temporarily dull our scent, making it much more difficult to trace. The same can't be said when it comes to humans. Especially Bella, it seems. The rain has amplified her mouthwatering aroma to new heights. But instead of giving in to my deplorable craving, I grit my teeth and fire up the car's engine. The radio/tape deck combo turns on automatically. I concentrate on the thumping music while I drive to get my mind off that sweet, sweet scent she's putting off.

Oh, can't you see, you belong to me

How my poor heart aches with every step you take

Every move you make

Every vow you break

Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you

"Um. Edward?" Bella mutters.

It's a handful of minutes into the ride. I glance away from the road to look at her. One tooth is digging itself into her lower lip. She doesn't appear angry or annoyed with me any longer, but to hell if I know what emotion she's conveying now.

"Hmm?"

"This song is... weird," she begins, her voice laced with uncertainty. "The guy's singing about how someone belongs to him, so at first I thought he was talking about how much he loves her. But then the guy says he'll be 'watching' her doing all kinds of not so nice things, like breaking vows and being fake. So, in the end, it doesn't really sound as though he likes her all that much."

My eyebrows lift up slightly. "You noticed."

"Well, yeah. It's kind of hard to miss, isn't it?"

"You'd think so, but you'd be surprised by how many people get it wrong. Nine out of ten mistake this as a love song when in fact it's a tale of heartbreak, jealousy, and obsession gone too far. I can't tell you how many brides and grooms choose to dance to this on their wedding day."

The tip of Bella's nose wrinkles. "Yikes. That can't be a good omen for the happy couple." She pauses to listen to the chorus again. "It's a great song, though. I like how it sounds. Who's it by?"

"The Police. They're from the United Kingdom."

She holds up a hand. "Wait a sec. Did I hear you right? Are you saying there's a rock band called 'The Police'?"

"Yes. And the lead singer goes by the name of Sting."

She sits in stunned silence. Then, she tips her head back into her seat and laughs. It isn't the false laugh of sarcasm or ridicule. This rings of pure joy.

And I have no idea why she would react this way.

"What's so funny?" I say to her.

Her laughter immediately dies. "Oh, it's nothing important." She clears her throat and straightens in her seat. "Um, you can drop me off here. My house is just around the curve."

Her house?

I pry my gaze away from her and stare in bewilderment at the road ahead of me.

Hmm. She's right.

I must have driven on autopilot nearly that whole time. Now we're almost at her doorstep.

Had the drive really gone by so quickly?

I ignore that thought for now and focus on a more important question. "Why should I drop you off here when your house isn't even in sight yet? I think my car is capable of traveling another hundred feet without a problem," I deadpan.

Bella exhales a heavy sigh. "Look, I appreciate what you're offering and all that, but I can't take the risk. All it takes is for my neighbor or one of his buddies seeing me getting out of your car, and then all hell would break loose. If word got back to my dad, I'd be grounded for life."

My eyebrows crash together. "Grounded for life all because I gave you a lift home?"

Does Chief Swan hate me that much?

On second thought... yes. Yes, he does.

Bella tucks a lock of her damp hair behind an ear before answering. "Don't take it personally. It's not about you. I'd be grounded for life because I got a ride home with a teenager sitting behind the wheel of a car. Who it is beyond that doesn't matter to my dad. He doesn't believe that anyone below twenty years old is responsible enough to operate a moving vehicle."

"Well, I am," I grumble in defense. Nevertheless, I stop the car where she indicated.

Bella adjusts the hood of her rain jacket back over her head and slings her book bag over a shoulder. We jump out of the car and race to the trunk as the rain drenches us. I untie the knots as fast as I can without appearing suspicious and pull the bike down. Bella takes it from my hands, climbs onto its seat, but doesn't immediately pedal away - like I assumed she would do. Instead, she straddles the bike and remains in front of me.

"Thanks for the help," she says in a soft voice.

"You're welcome. Now get moving before the storm sends down another bolt of lightning directly at you."

Her eyes roll for the third time today. Then she takes off down the road and vanishes out of sight.

I stroll to the car, slide back inside, and inhale. My eyes close as I taste the flavors on my tongue. Bella's haunting scent remains present in the air and is as sweet as ever... though it seems to be missing something now.

I shake my head at my nonsense.

What does that even mean?

There's no answer, of course. So, I shrug it off, turn up the music, and drive home to relax for a couple of hours. I have a night of patrolling around Forks to do later.

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Third Person POV

The storm began yesterday afternoon and has yet to slack off. The streams and rivers of the Olympic Peninsula have risen to the point where they are almost bursting from their banks. Trees with weak root systems have toppled over due to the strong winds and waterlogged soil. Rain is nothing new to this section of Washington, but three and a half inches in twenty-four hours is more than enough to cause problems.

At the sound of the local sawmill's five o'clock whistle, Daryl Niven clocks out from work and drags his weary body to his Chevy Silverado. The truck's windshield wipers work overtime as he drives through the relentless storm. He has a long commute to deal with - nearly twenty miles - but Daryl believes the hassle is worth it considering where he gets to live.

He takes a right turn off the main highway and drives past Lake Edens. Even partially shrouded behind curtains of rain, the lake remains as beautiful as ever. A few houses are scattered around it, their owners able to bask in the lake's glory at all hours. Daryl could have done the same, but he wanted privacy more than he wanted a great view out of his window. His home is located a bit farther away, down a long and winding lane leading deep into the woods. He built the cabin five years earlier with the help of his father and brother-in-law, John. His family (especially his fraternal twin Diane) wanted him to live closer to town, closer to them. Daryl understood his family's desire, yet he also knew that living in town wasn't really an option for him. Forks lacks that sense of peace and quiet you can only find in the wilderness. So, he had no choice but to move.

He parks the truck in front of a mid-size log cabin and takes off running through the mad torrent of rain. He only relaxes once he reaches the cabin's covered porch. The keys in his hand jingle while unlocking the front door. Daryl pauses the instant he hears something moving around inside of his house. Then, he braces himself for attack before swinging the door wide open. And there - not more than five feet away - stands an enormous creature in his living room.

Large black eyes.

Sharp, glistening teeth.

Long, wagging tail.

"Boris!" Daryl cries.

The large English mastiff trots over to his master and gifts him with several slobbery tongue licks across the face, ones which Daryl unsuccessfully dodged. Boris looks as intimidating as a werewolf but actually has a heart of gold. Everyone loves him, and he loves everyone. The dog's only fault is that he has a habit of chasing animals - especially squirrels. He reminded Daryl of one of the villains from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. Boris Badenov was always looking for a chance to destroy "the moose and squirrel". Hence, that is how Boris the dog acquired his name.

Daryl pats Boris' soft tan fur a few times and walks to his pet's food bowl. He dumps in a large portion of dog chow and smiles as Boris rushes over to gobble it up. With that out of the way, Daryl moves to tackle another chore - his blinking answering machine. He hits the playback button and listens to the only message left for him.

"Hey. Call me back asap," a woman's voice demands through the machine.

Daryl grabs the telephone and dials his twin sister's number. "Hello," Diane answers.

"It's me. What's the emergency?" Daryl asks.

"Hey! There's no emergency or anything like that. I was just wondering what you're up to tonight."

"Well... I'm planning on kicking back and relaxing for a while. The TV Guide says there's a new episode of The Facts Of Life coming on in a couple of hours."

Diane breathes a sigh of relief through the phone. "Good! So you're not busy then. Tonight I'm inviting you over to my house for dinner. I hope you're hungry 'cause I made your favorite. Pot roast!"

Daryl narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Why? It's not my birthday."

"Can't I make my brother a pot roast without there being a birthday involved? It's just that John and I have been bored lately, so we got the idea to invite some company over. That's all."

"Hmm. Company... That sounds like you're planning on having more than just me there at your house."

"Of course, silly! We're throwing a little dinner party. John invited a few people. I invited a few more. It'll be so much fun!"

Daryl tries to rub some of the weariness away from his eyes. "That sounds nice, but honestly, I'm not in the mood tonight. I'm kinda tired. I think I'll just take it easy and stay at home."

His sister gasps. "No, Daryl! Please don't do that! You'll ruin everything I had planned. This dinner party is mainly for you!"

Daryl frowns at Diane's vague choice of words. Then he groans when the meaning becomes clear. "My god, woman. Don't tell me that you're trying to set me up again."

His sister remains uncharacteristically quiet.

"I knew it," Daryl grumbles to himself.

"Oh come on," Diane whines. "You'll like this one. I just met her today. She's gorgeous, single, and really excited to meet you."

"That's what you said the last time you thought you found someone for me. And what happened, hmm? The woman talked to me only once before she faked a stomach ache and left the party."

"Pam wasn't faking it. She has Irritable Bowel Syndrome. But the good news is right after Pam left us, she went to the E.R. and bumped into an old high school flame of hers. They're getting married this fall."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Daryl mutters.

"Stop sounding so pissy, Daryl. You will find someone one day. All you need to do is put yourself out there more. Like, by coming to my dinner party tonight. I swear you'll have more fun this time. The woman I found for you is super smart and absolutely loves the outdoors. She works as a Park Ranger! She's perfect for you! It would be a crime against humanity if you missed out on meeting her just because of some stupid ol' TV show."

Daryl exhales sharply through his nose. "Fine. You win. I'll come to your party but I have to shower first. I just got off work."

"Great! Don't worry about rushing or anything. Dinner won't be served until after seven. You'll have loads of time to get ready. Oh! And don't forget to shave. Love ya!" Then Diane hangs up.

Daryl shuffles to the bathroom and flips on the overhead light. As he unbuttons his shirt, he contemplates what he should wear tonight. He's a foreman at one of the largest sawmills in the region, so he has plenty of clean flannel shirts and boots in his closet. But, he is aware that if he shows up to Diane's fancy dinner party wearing his work clothes, she would publicly execute him. A white button-down shirt and neck tie would probably be his best bet, he decides.

He steps into the shower and stands under the spray of hot water. The heat soothes the aches and pains in his stiff muscles. Next, he lathers up a handful of shampoo and works on scrubbing his scalp.

I wonder who Diane is setting me up with? he asks himself.

His sister picked well the last time. The Irritable Bowel Syndrome woman looked a lot like Meryl Streep. She was a knockout. However, the person Diane found for him the time before that wasn't nearly as attractive. That woman looked like Rod Stewart... but with a unibrow.

It took months for Daryl to trust his sister again.

Crack!

The thunderous sound has Daryl nearly jumping out of his skin. It was like a tree snapping in half right before it crashes into the forest floor.

Daryl decides he better go investigate.

He immediately shoves his head under the water to wash the shampoo away from his eyes. That's when he hears a deep growl rumbling from one of the nearby rooms. Seconds later, a high-pitched yelp. He recognizes who made those sounds, but just barely.

Boris.

In all the years he has owned Boris, never has the dog growled in such a threatening manner. Nor has Boris ever cried out like that before. Daryl scrambles out of the shower, wraps a white towel around his waist, and rushes into the living room.

The dog isn't there.

"Boris," he calls. "Here boy."

Daryl waits for the dog to run up to him like he always does, but Boris is a no-show this time.

He moves elsewhere to search for his four-legged friend. But as he steps into the kitchen, he is met with a surprise. The back door of the cabin has been ripped off its hinges and now lies in the center of the room. His first thought is that Boris somehow made it fall. Without thinking, Daryl races over to the open doorway and squints into his backyard. A wall of rain tumbles down from above.

"Boris!" Daryl yells into the darkened evening's light.

Only the howl of the wind answers him.

The tiny hairs on Daryl's arms shoot up at attention. He takes a step backwards. And then another. An overwhelming sense of being watched takes hostage of his senses.

Maybe Boris didn't do this, he thinks. Maybe someone broke into the house.

Daryl's instincts direct him to the storage closet in the hallway. There he finds what he needs - the wooden bat he once used on his high school's baseball team.

Daryl moves slowly through the cabin with the baseball bat raised high, ready to strike anyone or anything he finds to be a threat. Every light switch he can find gets switched on as he moves. Soon, the cabin glows like a firefly in this lonesome section of the woods. He checks his bedroom and its closet first. Next comes the guest room, living room, and bathroom.

And he finds... nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Daryl's shoulders collapse in relief.

No one has broken in, he says to himself. Maybe a gust of wind blew the back door down. It sounds like a hurricane out there. The door hinges probably need replacing.

The baseball bat gets thrown back inside of the storage closet. Most of the interior lights are flipped off to save electricity. The cabin has been returned to normal. Daryl walks to the kitchen, his head much clearer than before. He wanders up to where the broken back door lies and stands above it. He takes note that the hinges aren't in the best of shape. They're a little rusty, just like he thought.

But, then, he notices something odd.

Small drops of water are scattered around the kitchen floor.

At first, Daryl chalks it up to the fact he just showered and didn't dry himself off very well. However, as his eyes follow the trail of water, he notices that it leads to a place he hasn't entered in several days.

That's when the pieces of the puzzle finally comes together for Daryl.

He sighs and marches over to the laundry room.

I should have checked here first, he thinks. The back door fell off and Boris got scared. He probably got a little wet too when the wind blew through the doorway. Loud noises have always gotten to him. I bet he's trying to hide in the laundry basket again.

The door to the laundry room is already cracked open by several inches. Daryl pushes it open the rest of the way and flips on the light. He takes a look around but doesn't see Boris in the laundry basket. Nor is the giant dog by the washing machine or dryer. The only thing that Daryl does see that's out of the ordinary is a pair of muddy, ripped jeans sitting crumpled on the floor.

And they don't belong to him.

"Boo," a voice whispers into his ear.

Before he can scream - before he can think any rational thought - someone standing behind Daryl grabs him by the scruff of the neck and snaps several of his vertebrae.

When Diane calls the cabin two hours later to check on why he's running late, no one answers the telephone.

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Edward

The rains arrived Tuesday, continued all of Wednesday, and didn't retreat until early this morning. Carlisle, Esme, and I haven't enjoyed running around Forks in the pouring rain, but we had no choice. We take shifts patrolling the town and its surrounding area, always on the lookout in case James decides to enter our territory and hunt again. Though, in the two weeks since Rory Parker's disappearance, I admit we haven't found any sign of him yet. Carlisle believes the nomad has found new pastures to explore and is unlikely to come back to the Olympic Peninsula anytime soon.

We can only hope that Carlisle is right.

At the ringing of the noon bell, I enter the high school's cafeteria and take a seat at what has become my designated table. The lunch tray in front of me features a brownish gray lump that's been buried under a sludge of gravy. I poke my fork into it and curl my lip at what I find. The meat has the consistency of rubber but smells far less appetizing. I overheard a cafeteria worker say this was Salisbury steak. It looks more like something you'd dissect in Biology lab.

How can humans eat such garbage?

I look up and casually scan the crowd of people in the room. Brian Duncan is scarfing down the Salisbury steak as though he hasn't eaten in a week. Heather Sawyer is bragging about a digital watch her parents bought for her birthday. And, Bella Swan has one eye on me while she sips lemonade through a straw.

Appearing as though I don't notice her, I shift my attention towards the window. There's gray clouds outside but no indication of rain. I suppose the weather forecast projected for today is right for a change. The storm has left us for good. The residents of Forks will finally have a dry afternoon to enjoy.

I stir the contents of the fruit cup gracing my lunch tray while simultaneously analyzing the thoughts going on around me. Once I've been assured no one is paying me any mind besides Bella, I briefly meet her gaze. I give a slight, almost imperceptible, head nod. She does the same. Then we both glance away and pretend we didn't just agree on going to the meadow this afternoon.

And roughly three and a half hours later, that's exactly where we find ourselves. Bella shimmies out of her jacket and uses it as a barrier between herself and the damp grass. I discover a spot under the dogwood tree that's almost completely dry and sit there. Then I smash the Play button on my boombox. Most of the stuff on this mix tape was released in late '83 and into early '84. There's a couple of Phil Collins' songs, some Bruce Springsteen, Tina Turner, and a few other artists you'd find on the Hot 100 Charts. Nothing too advanced music wise. Several songs go by. Neither one of us says a word. I lean my back against the tree trunk and allow the music to banish all of the stress I've been under as of late. And it works... until one song in particular comes on and ruins the mood. It's that bubblegum pop type of music that usually grates on my nerves. Perky tempo, thoroughly forgettable lyrics, and a singer whose fashion choices are more interesting than her voice.

You must be my lucky star

'Cause you shine on me wherever you are

I just think of you and I start to glow

And I need your light and baby, you know

Unable to take that nasal singing voice for a second more, I lean over and press Stop on the tape player. My finger prepares to hit the Fast Forward button when someone cries out a sharp "hey!" and halts me in my tracks. I raise my head to find Bella staring at me, her eyes wide and questioning.

"What are you doing?" she says.

"Moving on to the next song."

"Why?"

"Because Madonna is overrated. I try to avoid listening to her pitiful attempts at singing whenever possible."

Bella lowers her forehead in clear confusion. "If you don't like her, then why did you put her on a mix tape?"

I heave out a sigh at the memory Bella's innocent question has conjured up. "I didn't. It was my sister's doing. She's something of a fashion diva. Her main hobbies are shopping and dreaming about clothes. So when I teased her one day about something she wore, she took it as an insult. But in my defense, if you choose to wear a lime green fanny pack, you should expect at least some ridicule. Anyway, Alice got even by recording over one of my favorite Billy Joel songs on this tape and replaced it with this... monstrosity. She knows how I feel about Madonna, and unfortunately, she used that to her advantage."

"Sister? But I thought you were an only child," Bella responds.

My breathing stops.

For one moment in time, I was asked a question and forgot all about "the story" Carlisle, Esme, and I invented. I'm supposed to be an orphan who was taken into the custody of a kind, childless couple. The gossips of Forks believe our family is made up of only the three of us. Instead of sticking to that story, I blew it and revealed a fact from my home life.

How could I say something of that magnitude and not even realize it?

My only consolation is that Bella isn't the type of person who spreads gossip around. The girl barely speaks. So, I try to relax my rigid posture and feign indifference. "Technically I'm an only child, but Alice is my adopted sister," I explain to her.

Bella remains silent for a long, long moment. "Oh," she replies eventually.

And she says nothing else.

I eye Bella in disbelief. Anyone else placed in her position would be hammering away at me for additional details. Curiosity is a part of human nature. Yet here Bella sits only ten feet away and all she does is silently stare at me.

So, so strange...

What's wrong with this girl?

Eager to get some sort of reaction out of her beyond an underwhelming "oh", more information flies off my tongue.

"I actually have two adopted sisters and two adopted brothers. They're all living abroad at the moment, though Alice and one of my brothers are planning on moving to Forks at the end of summer."

Bella nods her head slowly but doesn't comment further. It has me wondering what she could be thinking.

Just like always, it seems.

"I liked it," Bella says in a whisper. I raise a brow in question. She tilts her head forward until her face vanishes behind her thick mane of hair. "That song your sister added to your mix tape. I liked it. It's catchy."

Out of all the things this girl could have said, I certainly never expected her to say that.

I observe her quietly as she hides behind her hair. I ponder over her confession and weigh my options. Then, I do the unthinkable.

My finger pushes the Play button.

Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight

Starlight, star bright, make everything all right

Bella's head snaps up so fast that she should probably be treated for whiplash. She stares with lips parted open, surprise painted clearly across her rosy-cheeked face. After what I just told her, she didn't expect to hear that Madonna song playing through my boombox ever again.

I lean back against the dogwood tree, place my hands behind my head, and quietly rejoice in what I have accomplished today.

After two long weeks, I finally got a response out of this girl that I was able to anticipate beforehand.

Congratulations to me.

The afternoon steadily drifts towards evening. Bella checks her wrist watch and frowns at its face. "I gotta get going and start on dinner. My dad will be home soon."

I remain in my relaxed position by the tree as she stands up and collects her things. "Tell the Chief I said hello," I deadpan.

She throws her jacket over an elbow and snorts a dismissive laugh. "Sure. And I guess I'll tell him all about how we've listened to a mountain of your cassette tapes these last couple of weeks while I'm at it. I bet he'll just love that."

I half shrug at her sarcastic banter. "He probably would. It's been a while since he was able to destroy another person's property in the name of law and order. Maybe I'll sacrifice a couple of cassettes to the Chief just to keep him happy."

Bella shakes her head at me. "Funny, but you're wrong. My dad is never happy." She bends to grab her book bag and hangs it from a shoulder. "Well, I guess I'll see ya around," she says. Then she turns and leaves the meadow.

As always, I wait until Bella is a couple of hundred feet ahead on the trail before following her like a shadow. She never realizes I'm there. When she reaches her bike and pedals towards civilization, I stay hidden within the forest lining both sides of the country road and jog along with her. Houses grow more frequent the closer we get to town. I continuously scan the thoughts happening around me, searching for possible danger. As soon as she crosses over into the Forks city limits, I come to a stop and turn around. She's headed for home and safe for now.

I race back to my car and hop inside. I have a couple of hours to kill before I have to take over patrol duties from Carlisle. Patrolling the area isn't difficult, though I do admit it's a boring task. You just run around town and keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual. Maybe I'll go hunting for an hour or so just to give my brain something more interesting to do first.

I glance down at the car's gauges and decide I'd better get some gasoline before I go. I park the Jaguar by a gas pump at a convenience store sitting alongside the main highway. I grab the nozzle and begin filling up the tank. A petite woman in her thirties at the other gas pump watches me from afar, her thoughts curious as to who I might be. I ignore her and stare at my own pump, watching the amount I'll owe to the store climb by the second. Once her tank is full, she enters the store and chats with another woman who runs the gas station.

"It's been real busy today," the woman behind the cash register says. "Everyone's out doing errands now that the storm finally moved out of here." She rings up the petite woman's purchases: several packs of raisins and nuts, three bottles of orange juice, and some medication for colds and the flu. The cashier stares at the medication before she voices her concerns out loud. "You sick, Diane? You'd better get on home and stop running yourself ragged. That'll just make it worse."

The petite woman is shaking her head at the cashier when I enter the store. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking this stuff up to my brother's house," Diane answers.

"Oh. Doesn't Daryl live out near Lake Edens?" the cashier asks.

Diane nods in confirmation. Inside of her head, she pictures the place - a log cabin surrounded by giant trees. It's a very picturesque scene. Then she thinks of a man with her same curly brown hair. He sits on the cabin's front porch, his hand raised in greeting.

The cashier drops Diane's purchases into a paper bag and goes on talking. "I'll tell ya - your brother sure is lucky to live out that way. I don't think there's a prettier place in all of the county. It's so peaceful there. Hardly a soul around to bother you. So... how's Daryl doing? I haven't seen him around lately."

Diane's mouth wrinkles into a frown. "I don't know. That's why I'm driving out there today. Daryl was supposed to come to my house last night for dinner but he never showed up. We waited an hour on him before I decided to go ahead and let the other guests eat. Can you believe he never called or anything? It isn't like him to agree to come over and then back out without letting me know first."

"He probably just fell asleep in front of the TV. My Bob does that a lot."

"Yeah, I thought that too last night," Diane confesses. "But, I've called his house at least a dozen times and he won't pick up the phone. And today I called over to the sawmill during my lunch break to talk to him, but the secretary said he wasn't there and that he didn't show up for work this morning. He didn't even call in! He must be sick as a dog not to at least do that. Daryl loves his job. I hope they won't fire him over it."

Alarm bells begin clanging in my head.

This woman's brother was in an isolated location last night, hasn't been heard from in many hours, and doesn't normally behave this way. I believe I've heard something similar to this before. That's how it was for Rory Parker too - and I know exactly who is to blame for her disappearance.

So, how likely is it that this area would experience another human disappearance barely two weeks after Rory's without them being connected somehow?

I smell James all over this.

As the two women's conversation veers to the sawmill's sick leave policy, Diane moves to the side so I can pay for my gasoline. I drop two twenties on the counter and take off out the door, not bothering to wait for my change. If I get going now, I can reach this man's cabin and search it well before his sister arrives.

I'm almost afraid of what I'll find.

I drive the car away from the gas station and park it at the town's diner. The parking area is crowded with people due to the dinner rush, so it's unlikely anyone will notice my car hiding there for at least a couple of hours. I walk away on foot until I reach the wooded lot across the street. That's when I kick into high gear and begin running. I travel southeast, aiming for Lake Edens. The area is approximately ten miles beyond the border from where my family regularly patrols. Not many people live out that way, so we haven't passed through that area as much as Forks itself.

The lake is misty with fog as I pass by. A row boat drifts in the middle, its lone occupant dangling a fishing pole over the water. There's a light sprinkling of houses circling the lake's edges, though none of them match the cabin I saw within the mind of the woman at the gas station. I continue on and search the side roads one by one. At the very end of the fourth road, I find what I'm looking for. The cabin boasts thick cut logs and a stone chimney, matching Diane's memory exactly. I remain hidden in the forest and listen out for the sound of a human heartbeat.

I hear none.

I walk up to the front door and turn the knob. It's locked. I take a look around and spy a yard gnome statue sitting nearby. After lifting it up, I discover the cabin's spare key. Humans always leave them in the easiest places to find. I enter the dwelling and carefully sniff the air. The smell of human is thick but I don't detect the stench of a decaying body yet. I move into the living room and get a glimpse of the matching recliner and sofa. They're positioned strategically in front of a large TV, one with its rabbit ear antenna bent north for a stronger signal. I move away from the living room and head towards the back of the cabin. I pause at what I see. The kitchen features all wood cabinets, a gas stove, white linoleum floor, and a broken back door lying in its center.

I frown as I step over the door and walk outside onto the attached wooden deck. A barbeque pit and chairs are stationed at one end while a few potted plants are at the other. However, I see no signs of the man who lives here.

I turn around - intending to return to search the inside of the cabin - when I pick up on the sound of a beating heart. It's not human. It's pounding much too fast, like that of an animal's. And it's very close. I can smell it.

I jump over the deck's railing and land in the grass of the backyard. I stay in a crouched position and follow the sound of the racing heart. And, hiding in the darkness underneath the wooden deck, I spot a dog. It's massive, at least a hundred and seventy pounds. Nearly any human would be terrified if they came across such a beast in the dark. But at the moment, the dog is not intimidating in the slightest. It cowers in the corner, its body shaking as if it's freezing.

I believe I know why.

Animals are usually more aware of danger than humans. A human sees a vampire, they explain away that gut-feeling telling them to run from us. But when an animal sees a vampire, they just run.

Animals are much smarter than we give them credit for.

I look up at the sky. Night is approaching. I don't have much time left to search the property for the owner of the cabin. The woman from the gas station, Diane, should be here soon, and I'm sure the authorities will be called immediately thereafter.

I observe the dog and ponder over what I should do.

The dog has likely been outside for at least twenty-four hours. And I have a strong feeling that its so traumatized by whatever it saw last night, it doesn't plan on leaving this hiding place any time soon. Its only chance of survival is if another human takes over its care.

I come to one conclusion: I'm going to have to drag the dog out of there and take it inside of the house.

Dropping on my hands and knees, I crawl underneath the patio towards the dog. Its shaking intensifies the closer I get.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you," I say. I use the soothing tone a vampire would use to give a human a false sense of security.

In response, the dog lets out a tiny whimper of fright. It doesn't believe me. As I said before, animals are very smart. They rarely fall for a vampire's tricks.

I reach the dog and pick it up around its middle with one arm. It nips repeatedly at my stone flesh in defense. Once it realizes I am unaffected by its snapping jaws, the dog wiggles around and tries to break free. It's useless, of course. My grip is inescapable. As soon as we enter the cabin, I set the beast down in the kitchen. The dog jets off down the hallway, probably intending to hide somewhere else within the house. I don't follow. I'm sure the sister will find the dog as long as it stays safely inside.

The search for clues resumes where I left off. The fact that the back door was torn off its hinges is a decent indication that something bad happened here last night. Although I can't smell any vampire scent other than my own, that doesn't mean James isn't involved in this mess. It rained all day yesterday, and vampire scent is much more difficult to trace after it makes contact with water.

I move from room to room - on the lookout for signs of a struggle, a dead body, a drop of blood, or something that might explain what happened to the owner of this cabin other than what my instincts are yelling at me. A closed door sits to the left of the hallway. I twist the knob and step inside. It's a plain and simple bedroom with shag carpeting. Nothing special. But, there's a scent in the air that stuns me. It's sugary-sweet and floral. My eyes land on a cheap glass vase resting on the bedside table. It's been filled with fresh flowers. The blossoms are funnel-shaped, the color a creamy white.

Freesias.

Zipping across the room in an eye blink, I lift the bouquet from the glass vase. It's been tied together at its middle with thin brown twine. I place my nose above it and inhale. The scent of the human who owns this cabin is not present. He never touched it. But, I do detect a molecule of the scent I had feared I would find.

This was no coincidence. James left this bouquet of freesias here specifically for me. It's a taunt, a threat, and a warning all wrapped into one.

James won't be satisfied until Bella is his to feed from.

I take off running, out of the cabin and into the woods. My hands tear the bouquet to shreds, wishing it was James' body I am destroying as I go. Now I see that I made a mistake. I should have taken care of him back when I had the chance. The moment he crossed Bella's path and shown interest, I should have ripped him apart right then and burnt him to ashes.

But, idiot that I am, I let him go. And now Bella is a sitting duck.

As I run towards Forks, new dread washes over me. What if James designed the cabin owner's disappearance as more than just a sick game to play with me? What if it was a means to distract me from what he really wanted to do tonight? Perhaps James was waiting for me to run off just so he would have one less vampire around to stop him from entering Forks. Or, while I was escorting Bella back into town this afternoon, perhaps James was already lying in wait for her inside of her home.

At this thought, I dig my heels into the earth and force myself to move faster.

I don't stop running until I arrive at the humble two-story home near the outskirts of Forks. My shoulders sag in relief once I hear two steady heartbeats coming from the Swan household. Using Chief Swan's perspective, I see that father and daughter are sitting at the kitchen table. He reads the newspaper while he eats his dinner. She plays with her food and only occasionally takes a bite, her face empty of expression. Once all of his food has been consumed, the Chief drops his dirty plate into the sink and exits the room. And during all that time I watched, neither one of them spoke a word.

Now that Bella is out of the Chief's sight, I can no longer see her either. It makes me anxious. I concentrate harder to ensure James' thoughts aren't anywhere around. I never hear a thing to suggest his presence. Several minutes after Chief Swan left her, I spy Bella through the window washing the dishes. Once her job is complete, she walks out of the kitchen and calls out a "goodnight" to her father. He mumbles the same back to her. A room on the second floor lights up moments later. I decide it's probably Bella's bedroom.

Armed with the knowledge that she is safe, I leave Bella in her father's care and race to the nearest payphone. Esme answers. I give her the unhappy news of James' return and explain how we have another human disappearance to deal with. She agrees to pass on the information to Carlisle as soon as he gets home. They'll try to investigate the matter further.

Then I have an entire night of guarding the greater Forks area to look forward to.

I do well the first hour. Every inch of our territory is scoured by me while I search for signs of James. But as I enter the second hour, I find myself being lured away from my intended path and headed to a place I've already been tonight.

Bella's house.

As I run there, I remind myself that the person who lives inside of that house is James' main target. It's logical that I should come periodically to Bella's house and do a security sweep. A couple of times a night should suffice. It's not as though I can't handle the added responsibility. In fact, it's more like a blessing in disguise. It will give me something to do other than only run around Forks all night long.

I arrive at her house and circle the property a couple of times, taking note that father and daughter are still wide awake inside of the house. There's nothing to indicate danger is nearby. I run off to do my job elsewhere, deciding I'll do another security sweep here in a few more hours.

But as the moon lifts higher and higher in the night sky, I find myself going back to that same house again. And again. And again.

At midnight, I'm standing under a tree a couple of dozen yards away from the Swan house. The lights inside are all switched off. Two hearts are pumping at a languid pace, a clear indication that their respective owners are asleep. My mind reading is picking up on pieces of Chief Swan's dreams. In his fantasy world, he's handcuffing a person he caught playing a heavy metal song from their car's stereo system. Coincidentally, that person looks an awful lot like me.

I veer my attention towards the other occupant of the house. All I detect is Bella's quiet, rhythmic breathing. If she dreams, there's no way I'll ever know what it's about. But, at least I know for certain that she is all right.

I should be satisfied with that conclusion. I should leave now and return to my nighttime duties.

However, as I try to take a step in the opposite direction, I find that I can't go.

At least... not yet.

Bella is vulnerable right now. Her father is sound asleep. So is their neighbor across the street. There's hardly anyone out traveling the roads at this hour. During the day it's much harder for a vampire to move around unobserved. At night it's a different story. James could easily sneak into town without being seen, climb through the bedroom window, grab Bella, and simply vanish with her. No one would ever know what happened to her. There's nothing stopping James from doing exactly that... except for me. So, only coming to check on Bella's welfare a couple of times a night might prove to be a terrible mistake on my part. The wiser thing to do is divide up my time equally, between circling the town and standing guard at Bella's house. It's not a problem for me. I'm sure if Carlisle or Esme worked my graveyard shift and remembered the extreme danger Bella is in, they would choose to do the same.

I drop to the ground and spread out my legs. My head leans back against the rough bark of a tree. Both of my eyes stay glued to the window which belongs to the girl with the silent mind. As the minutes tick by, I begin hearing sounds coming from her room. Since she should be asleep, I become slightly alarmed. I sit up straighter and listen for trouble. Bella's breathing picks up speed. It also sounds like she's thrashing around underneath her blankets. Then, I catch a few garbled words leaving her lips.

"You must be... my lucky star

'Cause you shine... on me... wherever you are."

I sit in stunned amazement.

Madonna.

Bella is mumbling that Madonna song from the meadow in her sleep.

What other person besides her would ever do such a thing?

For the first time in weeks, both corners of my mouth lift into a smile. At least guarding her house has proven to be entertaining.

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A/N- * Squints to see better * Huh. I think we're starting to see some cracks in Edward's grumpy exterior. Hooray!

Songs used in this chapter-

Lucky Star by Madonna. This is one of her hits before Like A Virgin dominated the radio. It's also before she wore weird pointy bras. Or sent out even weirder Coronavirus misinformation over Instagram. (Note to self: Don't follow the medical advice of any celebrity unless you don't mind dying a lot sooner.)

Every Breath You Take by The Police. It's a classic... and the national anthem for stalkers. Even Sting doesn't understand how some folks can still believe it's a romantic song.

Next Chapter- Did you ever have a bully inflicting physical or mental torture on you? Yeah. I know most of us have. But, did you ever have a mind-reading supernatural being there to do something about it?

Thanks for reading! :-)