An Array of Reasons

by ForeverUnknownOooooh

'Sex. Great. Now I've got your attention, I can go on.' Liberal college student Esme Platt is only just coming to terms with the instabilities of life. Along with her flatmates Saintly Carlisle Cullen, 25, and young Edward Masen, she offers an entertaining perspective on her life and how the unexpected is usually best.AH/AU RatedM for later chapters. Dark themes. Canon-couples

55. Reasons to Return- Part I

My dears,

In the past few months, ever since this dreaded lock down, my thoughts have been heavily centered on this story. I am aware that for the last few years, the delays for this story have unfortunately become longer and further apart but that is neither intentional, nor, if you'll forgive the patience, a bad thing. Please do not doubt my commitment.

As with many dark and sensitive subjects, when I first came to writing them they were naive, brash and very raw. In time, I have learnt, and continue to learn about the importance of sensitivity and the care that is necessary when dealing with a voice that is not necessarily your own but that belonging to a collective...

This story has a long way to go yet... but please consider this a TRIGGER WARNING that the next few chapters have some dark themes and deal with heavy topics, not always in the best way (This is a notice I should have made before, too.)

My thoughts are with you, with us all and with a lot of women and men who have suffered as Esme did just a few chapters ago. if you are one of those people, reah out, speak out and please do reach out to me.

As ever, your thoughts and reviews are appreciated and invaluable to my growth.

Thank you once again for your patience.

---

Thursday 31st March 2016.

Five days' post Neo-Natal fundraiser

With the thick rubber sole of my shoes springing in step, I managed to catch the corner of the entrance door with unconscious fingers. The boss is on the over side and notices me with a smirk on his peppered chin.

'Ah, there's the infamous trouble maker. I trust we are much recovered?' He asks from behind his shoulder, polite enough to attempt to conceal his smirk.

I engage speed to match him which provides the chance to focus not on the memory of Saturday night, nor rather longingly on the delights of this Morning, but solely on running without tipping hot coffee down my lapels.

'Yes, Sir.' I greet with a shy acknowledgement, racing with him towards the staff room.

Now his eyes are averted, I consciously lick my lower lip, tasting the depth of the gash before shifting to not hurtling myself into fellow staff. One of the younger nurses, Gabby, catches my eye with a start and abruptly throws her gaze down to her paperwork. The local news of the weekend is spread across the desk like a poster with my badges of honour like signatures.

Four more pairs of eyes turn on me.

'Do you know why we're rushing, Son?' Maddison questions, slowing enough to allow me a sharp turn on the corner. Had this been a race, he might have been disappointed by my ability to sense the oncoming traffic and slow enough without actually stopping. He, on the other hand, not trusting his vehicle has had to stop only to engage the accelerator to meet me once more.

As predicted, this Morning is off to another rampant start which though daunting, was always a welcome distraction.

'I have a theory or two.' I assuaged, allowing myself to consider a rolodex of options. Maddison detested wasted time.

We finally pull into the staff room, both trying to conceal any give away of discomfort. Excusing the lockers and a few of the residents, the room is mostly empty, ready for the day's attention…

The staff notice my entrance and with badly concealed interest, they smirk upon sighting me and quickly huddle away. I act like I have not seen and peer my head up only to respond to my Senior.

'Reason suggests it could either be a new procedure or-?'

He sighs and slams the locker door so that it echoes. 'Carlisle, I want to shake things up a notch.'

That.

I shrug delicately into my white coat, ignoring the sore yawn of my joints and tie the lanyard around my neck with care.

'Saturday was an incredibly important day for you. And you did well to keep your suitors entertained…' He chuckles to himself, admiring the metaphor without any possible consideration to how familiar such an arena was to me.

'Well, we have their interest.' He sways his shoulders as if this is a commiseration prize. 'Now, I want them infatuated. You know as well as I do, you are more capable and more skilled-'

I take the moment to appreciate that the audience has left us. Praise, particularly the over dramatic type could often be embarrassing and though it was appreciated, and unrelentingly kind… I was no stranger to the renaissance dramas of my youth.

Pedestals often led to downfalls.

His worn eyes narrow a little, sizing me up for a slaughter.

'I want you to head down to surgical,' he announces flatly. 'Alone this time- see how you cope one-to-one.' He shrugs like this is not a major opportunity and continues. 'Now remember, no ass kissing, Cullen. They hate that. And don't be over friendly with the patients either. They're all lawsuits down there.'

Shaking an already shaken person is not an ideal start to this conversation.

'Right.' I answer, feeling my throat bob painfully. 'The deep end.'

'The deep end.' Maddison confirms, thoughtfully. 'Leave now and report back to me at the end of the day. Got it?'

'Yessir.' I say, feeling more confident over time. I shake any missed crumbs from my front in a sudden concern for my appearance.

He looks at me wide-eyed and flexing the paperwork in his hand, rolls his eyes. 'Then what are you doing here? Run Carlisle!'

So run, I do.

Even I must admit that it is more than humbling how much power the medical staff have over any of the junior's within their responsibility. I had been part-frightened of nurses since I started my career. The wealth of their experience, the longer they had worked in healthcare, the older they were, the sillier and juvenile I felt. There was also concrete evidence that surgical staff were employed based on their ability to crucify an ego. If they so much as caught me breathing, I could be spending my life in colons.

What Maddison chooses to leave out as I trundle my way noisily downstairs is that I am expected. A slight man who looks not that much older than me is leaning against the white board. His trainers are beaten up and his clothes disarrayed. Even his sandy hair and wire-like beard are a mess. The stench of alcohol tricks my nose like a burn on an open wound.

I had been in a few surgeries before, mostly hidden amongst a crowd of interns but I was fairly sure his face did not quite strike me as familiar.

'Judging by your featured looks, you must be the infamous Cullen.'

It seems the feeling was mutual. I stop short, breathe through my mouth and approach the stranger. He is shorter than me, his shirt is loose enough to look like he has forgotten to tie the top button. He watches me with complete disinterest that I doubt I could rectify.

'I believe so,' I offer my hand to shake. He disregards it, keeping his arms tightly folded.

'Fight with your ex?' He asks instead, chin up to point mockingly at me. I presume it is because of the lip but the bruises from my neck upward are likely to be liable as well. 'Or did daddy halt the allowance?'

I exhale quietly.

This isn't the first time this week that someone has chosen to remind me of my roots and it's even more likely to not be the last. I remain neutral, dragging my hand back away from sight.

'Doctor Maddison said-'

'Has sent his prized student?' He snorts to himself and realising that I am not biting, starts to walk away.

The corridor he slinks down is slightly brighter than it would be upstairs, or rather, it's bright along the centre but the wall edges are shaded to the floor. The layout is also simpler to pick up on account of the single patterned floor laminate. The larger the theatres, the less turn offs there were into smaller office rooms. There's only one route and that's where my new boss is heading. He makes Edward's mood look like happy-hour.

Well, nothing if not thorough.

'Apologies, I didn't catch your name?' I offer from only a pace or two away. Know your place as my father would say.

He answers quickly. 'That's because I didn't give it to you.'

Unsurprisingly, he walks a lot slower than the staff upstairs, lot less purposeful and with a lot less care. I wonder if I am being heavily played and if he is actually just a snarky junior.

'How should I address you?' I ask, forcing a light-hearted chuckle at the end. It's an Alice attitude in a Rosalie tone.

He doesn't seem impressed and I try to remind myself to only focus on the patient in future but given his look, there is little to suggest that I'm not in copious amounts of trouble.

'Anything that I'm not already called in my sex life.'

Before my mind fills the blank, I decide that this time it's best if I do not answer.

'Quick learner.' He muses, turning his sharp jaw from me again.

He watches the staff as we head to the reception area. He glares at them with contempt, refusing to respond to anyone's greetings.

'Alistair. You will call me Alistair. If you try to call me something other than Alistair- then kiss your paparazzi away, Sunshine, because you'll be gone on the spot!'

Once more, it's not the first hyperbolic speech I have had to face this week. Another reference to the weekend is quickly becoming tiresome.

In all honesty, I hadn't really had chance to read the article. When Esme's brother: Richard happened the throw the paper at me three days ago, I had only really been focused enough to notice my flatmate on the page. Her beautiful waved hair, sleek and resting lightly against her shoulders, the dress sitting comfortably on her figure with her hand so delicately balanced on my shoulder.

All that grace…Cursed, belittled, discriminated against… and her own brother didn't help either. Granted, there was little she would mention of her family though there is not a doubt in my mind she adored them. How disappointing to realise that it was a feeling not inexcusably shared.

Or maybe she just has a bad habit of defending shit people.

'-end up fired if you can't listen to a single instruction.'

Perhaps this was harsh… I suppose he wasn't so bad come the evening. And there was no doubt that Esme wanted him there both as an informant and her guest.

'Yes, Sir.' I answer quickly, suddenly realising I had just been staring at the trolley carts this whole time. His eyes darken on my face, a scowl appearing quickly. 'I mean, Alistair.'

I am completely un-convincing, so it is no surprise he refuses to reply. He walks silently for a long time, ignoring my confusion, or even my questions for that manner. He keeps asking treatment options for some basic, and some more complex, procedures though he fails to respond with corrections.

The corridors narrow and darken as he leads me away from staff. I catch glimpses of every room, crash cart, fire extinguisher in every corner but instead of leading me into a room, he turns away and we walk back the other way. On his seventh time of doing this, he stops outside one of the crowded wards. There are groans and moans of elderly people crying in pain. He has not noticed. With the disgrace of touching me, he half pushes me in, regardless of the surgical interns and rolls his eyes when I apologise for bowling into them.

In the crowded room of doctors there are three women, two men and a very tall, pale lady with fierce brown eyes and a curved lip. It doesn't take a diploma to realise she is very clearly in charge. Though I do wonder if she's old enough and then realising my own naivety, feel guilty for thinking it.

She watches Alistair snatch a file from one the students with a lipstick grin on a proud mouth.

'Well, well Alistair. For what blissful reason are you gracing us with your presence today?' She gives me a minimal once over. Not enough to be considered of any importance.

By assumption, the patient is too senile to understand the situation. Probably around his late 90s, he wears thick hearing aids either side of his fluffy head and is tucked in red checked pyjamas. He seems not to notice us and continues to look out the window, only turning to mouth a question that no one is bothered by.

'Test,' Alistair replies. He holds the file one handed, scans it in seconds before throwing it to me. Being typically flimsy material, I am forced to clap both palms between the pages to prevent them from slipping to a heap. This is yet another move he seems bored with.

Likewise, the circle of students are clearly irritated by the debacle.

'Read it,' he orders.

My eyes scan the page: William Jacob Riebtzer, 05/02/1922 suffering from dementia and hypotension in the upper-

'Now present.' He flourishes his hand dramatically waiting for his audience to respond.

I barely caught three sentences.

'Now, Cullen. Time is of the essence. Present the case!' He indicates the silent man on the bed though I doubt he has cast his solemn eyes towards them.

Vultures are nicer.

The woman exhales musically. 'There are better times for your games, Alistair, my students have actually qualified-'

The look he gives me is a clear test and making a brave face, I jump in.

'Mr Riebtzer, male, 94 years old age. Diagnosed with Dementia three years ago-' he cuts me short while the qualified mentor rolls her eyes again.

'What are you doing?' he asks me, irritated. 'I'm not your patient?'

If this is a game, then it is no secret I am losing. I peacefully try to stand closer to the patient. If he notices me, he doesn't say much.

'Mr Riebtzer?'

The frail old man doesn't look up.

'Mr Riebtzer, my name is Doctor Cullen.' I'm currently being watched by two career deciders and four competitors and neither like my approach, so if you can at least pretend to hear me, that will at least allow me to sleep tonight…. 'It sounds like you had a nasty fall. Can you tell me what happened?'

'Roberta?' He asks weakly. When he turns towards me, I realise he's looking right through me like I'm a pane of clear glass. His slanted eyes are watery and he smiles as though he is unaware of the breath it takes from him.

'No, I am afraid that I am not Roberta… I am one of your Doctor's. Can you tell me where you are?'

'Wasting time, Cullen.' Alistair mutters but he is refusing to look at anyone in particular. Just anywhere except at me.

'Roberta?'

'No, Sir. I need to examine you now to see how are doing. Is that okay?' My patience is once more under appreciated.

He slowly raises a hand to his mouth and in joyful shock nods. 'Roberta, that is you.'

With my hands, I guide him to lie down and start the exam. His bones are weak and he's fairly thin but it is not uncommon given the age. Vitals are mostly good, perhaps thready in areas including the low blood pressure, and there is wheezing in his chest. I wrap the stethoscope from my neck and check his chest again. Tight and sore from his acknowledging groan.

'I have a life, Cullen.' Alistair complains, throwing his weight around to push through the staff. The few numbers of men there are seem less offended. 'Cut the chit-chat, he's not listening. Hypotension is bad because…'

'He only had heart surgery three weeks ago.' I answer.

'So, what are you going to do…?'

'His complaints are minor; the hypotension is mild-' I hurry to explain.

'And so-'

'So Dopamine but only a small-'

'Dopamine?!' Repeats the attending, her voice making the room startle. 'Alistair, I haven't got time for your high-schoolers-'

'But only a small dosage-' I insist. 'No more than twenty-'

'Are you thick?' She asks, her tone clawing at the walls. 'He's just come out of surgery, he's ninety-four years of age!'

Alistair interrupts again. 'Good, it means when my student kills him, it will be a gift to the community.'

'Despite his minor complaints, he is mostly communicative.' I defend, assuring myself that my impoliteness will be forgiven on this one instance. 'Given the stress on lungs, the worse he gets, the bigger risk to his heart-' And while I am desperate to know why someone demanded a poor elderly resident take on major surgery, I continue. 'Even the smallest dosage of dopamine could be enough to relieve the symptoms till he heals-'

'Okay, that's enough.' Alistair murmurs, and stalks tiredly from the ward. All eyes are boring either into his back or my skull.

'But-' I try not to say it. It sounds horrifically junior and embarrassing and so vulgar- I alter myself slightly. 'It would help?'

'I know.' He replies, once again disinterested. 'Who gives a shit? Onwards-'

The fellow nurse's titter, but overall ignore him as he snakes out of the room.

'We're not giving him such a ridiculous treatment-' she retorts with a scoff.

Alistair turns just before he's out of earshot and shrugs. 'Doctor Denali, if I thought it worthwhile to care, I wouldn't have chosen this first case as my example. Enjoy the cadaver.'

'Roberta.' The patient repeats again, and furrowing his aged hand on the bed, he reaches the edge of Denali's coat and holds it carefully. It's sad in a way that makes me wish I was at home, not thinking about this week, just studying or at the dinner table.

Doctor Denali's expression is enough to ensure I leave quickly.

My mentor is leaning against the wall outside the ward when I come out, trainers on the walls, playing with a cigarette he is not allowed to light. He's irritated once more and rubs the corner of his eye lazily.

'Just a piece of advice. If you really want to excel here- don't waste my time.'

'I appreciate what you are saying-'

'No, you're a kid with an attitude problem. You scored yourself a couple of good grades in school. Congratulations, Mr Popular. Walk around like the sun shines out of your ass and you're going to kill someone.'

My tone is already curt before it leaves my tongue. 'If you would pardon the inexperience-'

'Funny.' Alistair interrupts, 'Maddison didn't have you pinned as the defensive type.'

Enough. No more biting this week. No biting, no barking, no silliness.

'It's because I'm not,' I assert, calmly. 'I am trying to learn; I am only going to learn where I'm wrong so-'

So much for not biting.

'So?' He imitates. 'You think you're going to test me?'

This must be a test. Of course, I am making such assumptions on his lazed expression. He's leaned his weight onto the white walls, his heels on the linoleum, his frown is deep and mocking.

'No.' I say gently.

'Cullen, let me spell out for you something that you obviously didn't pick up on. You prescribed dopamine. Wake-up. A 90-year-old drip with hypotension, surgery and dementia isn't waking out of here. Prescribe your morphine, move on.'

I can almost feel Esme's slender hand on my arm, her gentle eyes watery, her lower lip pouting as she delicately begged us to leave.

'Surely-'

'Don't waste the medicine.' He enunciates, his smoking stained teeth biting every word.

He punctuates in a way that is clear that the conversation is over, moving on to his next performance while I follow like a pathetic lap dog.

---

For once in a shift, I am surprised to be gifted with a break that I didn't have to bribe someone for. Alistair has clearly had his fill of my presence and after sending me on stupid tasks, criticising me in public, winding me up and announcing any judgement on my life as he can think of, I am dismissed.

In fact, I find myself sat quietly on the outside bench by the hospital parking lot. There's a slight drizzle and smooth rumblings of thunder. My hair is a little damp but I lean forward to shield my eyes, hands close to my knees.

In my time downstairs, I managed to miss a call from Edward Senior. With reluctance I phone him back only to be harassed with legal terminology and obsessions with visas. He tries to be simple and firm, but emotion plagues his voice as he urges me to reconsider any and all choices I voice.

There's a deathly secret to my resignation from home that I am obsessively ashamed to admit… Not only were there so many benefits of me escaping the fray, providing Esme and Edward were safe. Aside from all of the pain and hurt and frustration, I wanted go.

My rose-tinted glasses were yellowed with age and in a cry for recognition, I longed for the nostalgia of Italy. I longed for that falsified image of what home was, even if time had soured it.

I turn these mysteries over for a short while and guiltily crave her voice. The home phone rings out both times. A normal adult might have accepted this as his answer. Nowadays I was cruel mix of teen hormones in an adult frame and I find myself phoning Edward to check on her.

At the very least, she had gone through a number of waves this week. Arguing and reuniting with her brother, becoming the centre of the local gossip, being ridiculed by my insipid blood line, confessing all manner of sins to Mr Masen, only to have them corrected in front of her and perhaps worse, she was having to put up with me positively attacking her at any moment we had. Worse still, I hadn't had chance to exercise the self-control yet and a few times this week she'd been left… unsatisfied.

I shudder hoping that this morning didn't suffer the same fate.

In a move to haunt these insecurities, Edward doesn't answer either which could possible mean Liz is at home and fussing over them both, or they are attending classes so instead I send him a text, offering her the escape route.

The classic no-answer is well deserved so both consciously and unconsciously, I begin my return to surgical.

'Cullen, right?' Asks a new stranger, approaching me with a smile. He has thrown the back door wide open and forced himself into the miserably damp weather of this tiny garden.

Another surgeon, a resident this time judging by his colours. He's dark haired, similarly bearded but reminds me a little of Emmett in his temperament.

'You're Maddison's guy, right?' he questions, now running up to me with enthusiasm. He sticks out his hand, surprising me to the point that I hesitate to shake it. It's a firm handshake, his biceps possibly crunching the bones from up top.

'Call me Garret! I head up the general surgery.' He grins again, bearing perfectly straight teeth. I wonder if that might have been a professional gift, and then similarly, feel bad for thinking it.

'I recognise you.' I say, vaguely aware that this lie is yet another sin on my being.

'Here, come out of the rain,' he holds the door for me as we come to the warmth, and nudges me with a shoulder. 'Hard luck on Alistair this Morning. Never a great way to start your day.'

'He wasn't too bad,' I say carefully, though I greatly appreciate the sympathy.

'Well, I'm here now, so it doesn't matter!' He laughs with himself and leads me speedily back towards the lower level. 'I hear you've had quite the weekend too, Doctor Cullen?'

Despite being the seventh person to bring this to my attention this morning, the directness of the question makes me feel as though I am hearing it for the first time. My eyes follow my steps accordingly.

'You could say as so…'

I smile to hide any hint of malice and meet the sting of surgical disinfectant with a punch. It's enough to wipe the reminder of my degna causa off my mind and the smug smirk off my face.

'Sorry,' he laughs, playfully. 'The nurses do love a gossip!'

A lie no doubt but I appreciate the attempt.

'Your brother?' he asks, nosily, obviously indicting Edward. He continues to hurry us both along, his smart black shoes clapping against the floor. He's walking faster to throw me off the scent of the question but at least if I am asked, I have the opportunity to gain control over my newly found fame.

'Of sorts.' I admit. 'It's not as it reads, I'm afraid.'

He stops, looks at me with an eyebrow raised and shakes his head disappointedly.

'Never is.' He murmurs. 'Flirting with your Mrs?'

His attempt to be coy is terrible, and the likeness to Emmett brings a chuckle to my response, even if that chuckle does result in a few sore gasps. He shakes his head again, biting another smirk.

'I get it, I'm pushing!' he raises his hands in surrender and stops by the double doors of a surgery, turning his head to reinforce his whisper. 'I'm trying to get a date with one of the surgeons here and she lives for the drama.'

'Ah,' Appreciating the honesty, I nod. 'Little to report, I'm afraid.'

'You would say that.'

He opens another set of double doors, but these are heavier, magnetised and lead to Theatre One. He encourages me in, irrespective of my amazement.

'So, ever scrubbed in before?'

'W-what?' I stammer. 'No, but-'

Given this morning's performance, I had pretty much kissed those options goodbye.

'Well, follow me, I'll talk you through it and whatever you do- don't tell anyone you assisted. I'll get fired on the spot and I really want that date.'

Of course, I had done minor procedures. I had even been one of the lucky few to watch many of them. However, I had never actually stood in surgery, never scrubbed in and had yet to be permitted entrance into a theatre for the purposes of assisting.

'Trust me,' he says with a wink. 'You're not going to kill anyone.'

As we scrub in, he gives me a very brief rundown of the patient; little girl, four years old, suffering from severe stomach pain, suspected to be her appendix. The course of energy surges through my veins, and listening carefully to every single syllable of my leader, I scrub in.

It is not until I'm tying a cap on my head that I think to suspect that for a major surgery… there's no one around? First and foremost, where's the anaesthesiologist? Where's the file? Where's the scrub nurses?

He opens another set of double doors with his back and grins, playfully, his expression dancing almost guilty.

'Well, this is Annie!'

Annie, as she is affectionately and generally named in the medical world, is a latex model often used for the purposes of training. In this instance, the childlike figure has been laid on the bed, the tools and instruments around her are as you would suspect for a real surgery, sterilised, organised, clean.

'Sorry,' Garret murmurs from behind. He keeps his arms up as this is a real surgery. 'We couldn't afford the lawsuit if someone found out so for now- here's Annie?'

Compared with this morning, I spend my afternoon role playing surgeries with a man possessing the excitement of a kid at Christmas.

It becomes a shame to leave Garret that afternoon. Mostly because I learn so much, in such a welcoming platform that I can leave the corridor feeling pleased with my stiches, my answers and my mistakes.

The man himself should also be commended on his dedication to my personal life. He tried with vivacity to ask more questions about the night. He circles on Edward for a while and becoming desensitised to the answers, moved to a more tender subject.

'So a Mrs or a Misses? He asks, leaning over to watch my left hand guide the stitches. I think he feels his success on this question and pushes it a bit further. 'Quite a looker of a Mrs, too?'

'Not a Mrs.' I clarify, remaining gentle in both hands and tone.

'Course not. Too young.' He leaned a little further, watching how my hands slowed to allow him to judge. 'No ring either.'

'Indeed.'

'Could there be a ring?'

It was a wildly impertinent comment and he realises this judging by the snort of laughter. The scrubs were becoming overly hot, the lights too blinding and with Esme hot on my mind, I was beginning to sweat myself.

People often seemed to look at us like it had been four long years of courting rather than four weeks... Aside from the intent such a prospect was now, far too reckless to consider. No matter how selfishly I wanted her, no matter how many times I wanted the words off my tongue like a confession… marriage was ultimately too soon, and far too dangerous. Even for us.

But my God, did I want it.

'You're blushing Dr Cullen?'

'Yes,' I admitted nervously. 'I believe I must be. Tell me, are my stitches too cramped considering…'

'Cramped, perhaps… Some like that in a man.'

He sees my look of confusion and hurries in; 'That sounded-I'm not… hotdogs aren't my thing.'

Luckily for us both, he had said little more on the subject after his flawed result but had not failed to continue to sing ballads under his breath whenever he had a free thoughtless moment to playfully mock me.

---

My last challenge then, came in the unexpected shape of my mentor. Though unsurprised to hear of the day's events, and mostly amused by my first supervisor's response, he was quick to end the conversation. He gave me a list of patients to catch up with, and smiling, clapped me on the back.

'You'll be on your own this afternoon.'

Like the Ghost of my future Christmases, he does not say a single word to me from this point further. He watches over me like Garret did, but with the silent attitude of Alistair. He watches me present, do the exam, ask questions, check medications, and offer solutions.

He follows me with a clipboard, reigning like a driving instructor and nodding neutrally to any and all sounds that fall from my mouth until my final set of notes under his reign. The ink is falling gently onto the page as I detail the dosage.

'Not so neat, Cullen, or they'll never believe you're a doctor.'

I smile and loop my signature a little wider allowing him to correct me. He chuckles warmly.

'You did well today. Very well.'

'Thank you, Sir.'

He rubs the wrist of his watch and bores his elder features into my tired naïve ones. 'I would tell you quite honestly to take the night off…'

Yet, the hours in medical were long and though I had done so much today… I knew I still had five or so hours left. Fourteen hour days were tough at times.

I think we both know that the words fall on deaf ears because he repeats himself earnestly.

'I mean it, Carlisle. You're late tonight, in early tomorrow…' He sighs to himself and shakes his head with an edge of appreciation in his tone. 'Nevertheless, start your rounds…'

The light looks of hidden concern cascades over a bruised eye when I nod but I think on the words a little more before promising to do as requested.

Gifted the ten minutes to take a drink that afternoon allows for a silent moment of prayer. I hear a few whispers on my spine as I check my calls in the staffroom, so lock myself into a mental isolation within the metal confines of the lockers. The staff are quiet within my presence, and allow me the peace in mind to think, carefully and carelessly about nothing but words.

Yet with my device so without any notifications, Esme quickly comes to mind.

The first image is of this morning, her peach back in the dark morning light from the window, the gentle Goosebumps rising towards her neck with her long toffee-coloured hair waving across her shoulder, curling delicately at the ends.

My chest feels heavy as I think of her lips at my ear in the movie theatre, hardly whispering at all, regardless of letting sweet nothings disturb. Her hand had gripped my shoulder, her tongue darting against my jaw, her throat hot against my neck. That slender throat comes to mind again, this time from Saturday. Her waves flowing past her collar bone, resting at the curve of her-.

Red light.

Both literally and figuratively.

I answer the albeit shrewd comment with a gentle smile and reply that my weekend went well. The porter leaves the room giggling to himself.

I stretch my toes off the linoleum and unlock my jaw. The stubble is already coming through. I can hear her voice, her shouting at her brother, shaking as I clung to her former boss, bitching with Edward, yelling at me-

The visions of her in the car, driving or the girls in the back as she lunged for my thigh. My tongue plays along the bottom teeth as she begs for me, ignores me, mocks me- asks me to tell her that I love her.

By the time I finish my water, my phone does go off and debating the consequences, and the never-ending pestering, I decide to answer Mr. Masen's call.

'Good Afternoon, Sir-'

'- to give us some more time to'

'It doesn't matter.' I hush softly. 'The decision is made-'

I am already turning the corner out of the staffroom as encouragement.

'Carlisle you may think that going back is an answer,' he's getting angrier by the second, his tone turning to gravel as the words fall in. 'It's just not- Consider what- think about what-'

I doubt he hears my soft thanks but he certainly hears me close the call. And with that thought heavily in my mind, I throw myself into the distraction of my patients. If only for now…

As briefly referenced, the day had already been a busy one and being a student populated location, we were prone to the difficulties of foolish decisions mixed with peer pressure. It seems neither the young nor the old patients can come within my responsibility today as I am swamped with the minor contusions gifted to both the competing Football teams.

Many, furthermore, had the joys of waiting several days, till their knees and joints were swollen and boldly painted before them to even considering coming in. One poor patient has been walking on broken ankle for three days. Three. And still couldn't quite grasp the necessity of staying for the results of X-rays.

It's as I am looking at them in the light that I get a panicked call from the younger Masen.

'I-I don't know what to do. You have to help me.'

'Edward?' I question, catching a brief glance with a curious colleague and lowering my voice. If I hadn't felt ridiculed before the weekend, I was now certainly led to the impression that the whole place was bugged and my former work friends, now spies.

'You're going to kill me. Oh my God, you're going to kill me.' He is probably ripping his hair from its roots as I try to catch on amid the buzz of noise and electrical units. 'You've got to help me-please- please, help me.'

As he speaks, I rearrange my curious humour to realise he is verging on a panic attack. His often sarcastic and mused tones were screeching to obscene octaves and the harder he tried to force the words out, the harder and more disruptive his stutter occurred.

'What's happened?' I ask sceptically but he's starting to shout curses down the line, briefly interrupting them with curses directed at my lover…

'Edward,' I murmur, now more confused. 'Calm down.'

Though for a second I'm not sure if I'm warning him or reminding myself. There's a niggling sensation in my fingertips, biting with restraint.

'Stop telling me to calm down!' he screams and this time, I am forced to move away from the vicinity of people with hearing. I couldn't do anything if I let his fury persuade my own.

Suspicions were not conclusions.

'I'm at work.' I remind him smartly, hoping this will at least help lower the volume of his swearing. I can feel my heart start to jump in rhythm, pulsing, tapping against my arteries as if to kick start me into movement. I have to fight to readjust my tight grip on the plastic. 'You need to take a deep breath and try again….'

It is almost expected that this will enrage him more but it's unavoidable for my own rationality.

'Now, what's the issue?'

With the clogs calm again, I suspect the elder Masen, in his fury, has finally hit the roof of all that he can accept and decided to recruit armies against my emigration. The more Edward screams, the more convinced I am that he's cursing her out for the mistaken belief that she might have been my inspiration…

Some broken reputations were necessary for prolonged security.

'Dammit, Carlisle! Stop fucking undermining me!'

My fellow work colleagues have definitely heard that one… I hold back the sigh as I imagine tomorrow's headline. I didn't have time for this, I could deal with the betrayal at home…

'If you are going to continue to scream-'

'Listen to me!'

Several more eyes catch his voice from the phone. I have to reassess my own tone when I reply, nervously, intimidated by the multitude of attention I have newly acquired. My throat feels thick.

'I am listening.' I insist. 'Just tell me what's going on…'

He barely speaks.

An older nurse, I don't remember his name, has come to catch the arm of my coat, holding out an X-ray towards me. I try to delay his approach by a second or two but the Kid fails to deliver.

'I don't have long, Edward.' I warn, shifting my back a little in hopes the move will show I'm unavailable. I knew I was being selfish. Patients to attend to were always the priority. 'Tell me, what's going on…'

As predicted, I am starting to get a bit beyond impatient now. I had responsibilities that I was aware I was in the middle of shirking. The older gentleman approaches me again, dark, guilty smile on his face as he asks for my consideration...

I have to tear my attention to Edward.

Will I have to force it out of him?!

What if it wasn't… me….

What if he was cursing out Esme….

What about…

'Speak will you?!' I growl, fuelled by the rush of blood to my temples…

He hangs up with a brief comment towards phoning me back.

I quickly attend to the Nurse's attention agree with the conclusions and provide a medicinal recommendation. Then, at nothing less than a flying walk, manage to locate Maddison. He rises from his chair the moment I throw myself into his office and, spotting my wordless lips, forms a frown on his lip.

'Is something the matter-?'

'It's my family.' I say guiltily, aware that I couldn't possibly know yet which part it actually was, the blood ties or the emotional ones.

Considering the way things were left of Saturday…Sunday too… I began to suddenly fear for the founding of the Neo-natal unit. I feel my gut start to part from its organs as Maddison steps towards me. He has an uncomfortable look on his face and I suspect we have begun to share predictions. The image of disappointment is clear on his face as he speaks and he nods.

'Go, go Cullen. I'll cover'

'No-' I murmur, giving in to the fate of prophecy… 'I think; I think it's the Neonatal unit. I think he's… well…' I'm itching to just get a move on. 'When Esme gets here-'

'Tell her to meet you there?' He guesses, flickering a hand my way.

The gasped breath of mine is starting to ricochet of the door I am holding. He nods and sends me off again, already rising to take over my absence.

Being on the upper end of the hospital, I have to take the stairs in multitude, trying not to lose haste once arrived at the right wing. I knew her driving was safer than Edward's which would arguably slow her down… but then I was aware that despite appearances she was usually a step or so ahead. She would've been driving before Edward had even had chance to hang up.

The shame was her aversion to speeding. But at least it meant she was safe.

The receptionist seems positively startled by my crash to the desk and has to clap her hands to the paperwork and stationary.

'Doctor Cullen?' She announces pleasantly. 'Coming to check on-?'

'Have you seen Doctor Newton? I need to speak with her rather urgently.'

Before I finish my sentence, she appears at the desk and welcomes me in with a bemused if not pleasured smile, I try to reciprocate the gesture but my thoughts are preoccupied.

In all honesty, I knew this was coming. I knew this would be the first place he would attack.

I should've prepared the forts sooner.

'Ah, Carlisle.' The beaming lady greets, sharp teeth on display. 'Congratulations once more for Saturday! Apologies for not yet getting cha-'

'Have you been in touch with the sponsors?' I interrupt rather desperately. I can feel the way my words tumble into the air without caution, the edges colliding into her words and cutting them down. I weave a hand through my hair, hoping to wipe the sweat away. Her expression, though bewildered becomes uncomfortable.

Even for a hospital, the talk of sponsors was immodest… crass… With a frown on her face she ushers me through the doors, barely unable to secure my hushed tones as I delve into demands for the rundown of any and all changes since Friday evening. She tries to entice my silence by leading us into the first store cupboard she finds.

Another article was already in danger of being written if I continued to act without caution. Creating some distance, I talk quickly in hopes of getting the matter out sharpish.

If we'd been hurt, I needed to know the extent of the damage to fix it.

'Carlisle,' she begins shakily. 'Because of Saturday, we have had more sponsors, more submissions, more grants and applications that this hospital, no, this state has ever had-'

'Has anyone spoken with the Pastor-?' I don't dare offer our name in that. Whatever good I had managed to grip onto with that name, I was selfish to admit was mine and mine alone. He might be a Pastor, he might be a father but I refuse to call him by the blaspheme of the title. 'Or King by any chance?'

'Y-you mean Royce King?' She questions, reeling back and putting a hand delicately to her hair. 'The city council member?'

It was almost enraging how preposterous this sounded to her.

'Any negative changes?!' I clarify, feeling the pull of my eyebrows. I am forcing those lungs to expand again, properly, deep inhales. On every breath I am reminded of the onslaught to my ribcage. I was lucky enough he hadn't broken ribs this time. I ought to remember that.

My sneer is as shaky as the breath it rides out on. On the opposite, Doctor Newton, a wife and mother of three, adopter of two and campaigner of many, seems to take my flurry of emotion as a soft prank.

'No? Are we expecting…'

'Please, Doctor Newton. Have there been any changes in the last few days?!'

She spins a little on her heels, taking a sincere moment to think on the question. She's wearing make-up of warm colours, colours that I had once seen on Esme's skin, bronzed cheeks with her expression tilted towards the sun. It's just the lights of the hospital now and they pour on the doctor like a threat of misery. Like an interrogation lamp.

'No.' She reiterates with a confused expression. 'No bad changes, no pull from sponsors…' She watches as I rub the relief clean off my face. 'Is Maddison overworking you, Doctor Cullen? I…Well I heard about Alistair this Morning and after Saturday-'

She suddenly remembers that she was playing dumb on that aspect of the story. A tepid blush seeps onto her face. She watches me curiously, her eyes playing on my skin like she's trying to summon the marks into view. I shake my head and thanking her, with a wry look of relief, walk calmly towards the reception ready to wait for Esme's screams. And Edward's too…

Once the two of them, often thick as thieves if it was to my expense, realised how religiously I was woven into to this decision, I suppose screaming would just be the start of their fury. Taking the punishment like a grown-up, I plan to head towards the entrance, already wondering what has taken them so long.

Quite coincidentally, I managed to catch Edward by the reception. He's paler than I would have predicted, with his striking pink mouth curled away from his teeth and his cheekbones and jaw like a fierce line drawing. As he continues to hurtle pleads and demands to the lady at the desk, I start coming on a dark observation.

From Sunday, I had become aware of Esme's aversion to parking… however… she was louder than Edward, braver in some respects, and wasn't afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve and positively attack the next person with it.

One of the many admirable and compelling aspects about her.

There is panic in my gaze as I scan the multitude of faces and do not yet spot the blur of her stance, the sharp note of her seething, the intoxicating scent of her perfume.

She wasn't with Edward….

The strength in my calves seem to falter, they struggle to hold me either upright or with determination as I take measured steps towards the panicked teen.

He's not angry.

He is blood curdling terrified, his jewelled eyes desperate about the space as he searches for me. Every cell in my body starts to scream in panic. Esme is not with him.

'Edward?' I ask, more breath and less sound. It feels like I have a fever, my skin boils as his lightens, the melanin clearly abandoning the front line of his paled, apologetic stance. 'Thank you Sandra. I shall take it from here.'

I try to smile to the receptionist but my voice is still horribly thick. Lifting a guiding hand towards his elbow, I lead him as calmly and as immediately as possible into the depth of an empty corridor. It's neither dark nor silent enough for my comfort but nevertheless our voices ricochet like magnetised ball bearings in a cell made of steel.

'You were going to call me back.'

I say it with regret.

Beneath my hand, he is shaking, musician's fingers trembling as though pressing on the lower C key on a Grand piano. I can almost hear his heart racing out of tune as he struggles to look at me.

Then the words break through the dam, and I go with them.

'I can't find her.' He confesses.

It's not a confession. It's an ownership to negligence. The depth of his careless, thoughtless, insipid disregard as he sweats in… what, fear? He didn't just look afraid. He looked shameful.

He was shamed as Lucifer on the day he fell.

I let myself be stupid.

'What are you talking about?' I seethe, breaking the words into deliberate separate sentences.

I realise this image might haunt me later in life. Edward's small, emotional, broken tone uttering explanations, praying for the mercy of my judgement… instead I let my temper bear its weight into his spine so deserving for a pathetic, whimpering child. I let my fury push him further into the ground.

'She isn't-' Those dark brows sit so heavily on his eyes he's forced to close them so as not to face me. 'She isn't…'

'Where is she?!'

He had one chance.

He had one.

If he dared, if he dared to sign her death warrant, I would sign his. I would sign it, stamp it and officiate it. I would bear his broken limbs to his parents and I would bury his soul into the depths of hell where it belonged…

'What'd you mean you can't find her.' I repeat, forcing he words through the fence of my teeth. 'Where is she?!'

He is no older than five when he next speaks. He is a blonde, blue haired little boy with grazes on his palms and knees, limping on one shoe with snot pouring down his chin. I curdle my light grey eyes.

'I'm sorry, Carlisle please, I'm so, sorry-'

I am calmer than expected. The sirens in my mind offer him one last solo escape. One last chance. I offer one tense, temporary, fleeting opportunity to rectify his faults.

He disappoints me as much as I disappoint my blood.

'What did you say?'

One last option before I smite him. And unlike my father, I'll guarantee one thing… I won't share the mercy to stop. I imagine if I bear the strength and sentimentality enough to let him live, he will reimagine me as angry in his story to the police. His parents will talk about the time they placed their foolish trust in that stupid catholic boy.

I am obscenely, obsessively calm as I breathe my retorts.

He falls into a cry of apologies again but I don't have the patience. Compassion is drowning me. His tears are drowning me and with a spontaneous scream of movement, the weight of my upper torso comes shuddering into his shoulder jacket, stapling him to the wall like a nail gun. He welcomes the movement.

The utter childlike desperation for forgiveness briefly reignites my guilt.

'Tell me where she is?' I beg.

I stand as Moses, pleading with the Lord not to take his son. I plead with fate not to take them from me. To not let Edward be slaughtered at my hands. I pray with the Lord not to take her from me. To not slaughter her soul.

The child can hardly speak.

'I don't know,' he apologises, mouthing words he can't bear to voice. He is breathing so hard; he is either screaming quietly or crying without speech.

'Do not lie to me Edward. I can see it.' He knows. He knows he just can't say. He can't say but now isn't the time for childish loyalties. I will extradite every coordinate from him if he forces me to.

Did he doubt me?

Did he think it a game?

Did he wish to believe foolish nothings? That she was simply at home? Hiding in the airing cupboard? Visiting family? With Alice?

Could he be that recklessly and spinelessly stupid?

'Where has she gone?!'

And behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein the breath of life, from under heaven.

Everything that is in the earth shall die.

And with it, think I, the good.

'She was meant to be at the coffee shop.' He whimpers from my reaction and forces apologies from his diaphragm like vomit. 'Carlisle, I'm so sorry…'

'Don't,' I threaten.

I am grateful for my brave and honourable ability not to snap his neck, just like he has all but done to her.

Maddison catches me in the staffroom as I wrench my keys from the depth of my locker. He makes a small comment about ensuring I'm covered but I move so fast from him that he grasps my wrist before I leave.

'Carlisle?'

'What?' I growl. 'What do you want from me?!'

He reels back a little but with a confused forgiveness etched into his posture he nods and loosens his grip on my wrist. If he wanted to stop me, he would have to do far more than appealing to my rationality.

'If you get pulled over, don't stop okay? And…And.'

I tear my arm from his hold like the ripping of fabric. I'd had enough of his condescending, needless utterances. At this moment in time, he was neither boss nor mentor. The longer he held me up, he could very well be an executioner.

'Be careful?' he begs.

I let the slam of the staff room door announce how far from my attention the town's gossiping is, and how little I cared for Maddison's two cents.

The child has managed to beat me to my own car and though he is stubbornly ignoring the tears streaming from his face, I imagine he is struggling more with his ability to word his defences. I wrench the driver side open and starting the engine, order him to get out.

'I'm… I'm not going anywhere.' He stutters, desperately swallowing the rising lump in his throat.

'Get out of the fucking car before I throw you out.'

I rev the car as testament but rather than slink out the other side, he goes to pull the seatbelt across himself. With my right hand, I grab a fistful of his chest and push him into the window of door, not offering the slightest relay of my concern even when he hurts himself on the rebound thud.

He may have killed her. I would remember that. He might have been family before but his stupidity may have killed her.

'N-No.' He gulps, shaking more misery from his eyes.

'I said get out the car, Edward. Get out. Get out the car now before I kick you out in front of oncoming traffic.'

Easy, I'll drop the blame from me and some other monster can kill him.

'Your empty threats don't mean anything to me.' He protests, not quite believing himself. He's right not to. I feel my knuckles stretch over the steering wheel, my own lips curling. 'I was the last person to speak with her, I'm also the main contact for everyone else. If you want to find her as much as I do-'

He holds his breath as he quickly judges the safety of the next few words. So not as stupid as he is desperate to indicate.

'-you'll drive.' He finishes, words clogged in spit.

I floor the Mercedes, wrenching her out the car park and not giving a shit as to how many people I cut up or pull out on through the way. He's on the phone to Emmett as I drive, saying some bullshit that I can't even try to focus on for the safety of the pedestrians on the road.

Why the stupid child felt the need to request their help before mine only reminds me how severely Edward has undermined even the darkest parts of my life.

It goes to show that perhaps Elizabeth didn't tell him anything… because if he suspected something, if he took into account the real danger Esme was in… he would never have made a single step in my direction.

And perhaps I would've been a good enough person to have never attempted flirting… to refuse friendship. With any of them.

The child reminds me several times along the route, with his hands tied around the handle above him, that she is not and has not been seen at the coffee shop. Which just proves what a fucking idiot he is.

With a fierce and gear shattering shift, I break solely on the dependence of handbrake so that the car spins to a stop outside the little coffee house. I leave the keys in the engine as I hurtle myself towards the door, throwing myself through the throng of people.

'Sir- you can't park-'

Hitting another heavy door, glass this time, away from my loaded stance, I mark the entrance to the back kitchens, ignoring the flurry of staff who try to indicate such routes are forbidden. Other's plead upon the sake of my reputation. Fools.

'Doctor Cullen? Sir you can't-'

'It says Staff Only, for a reason Jackass!'

I step towards the boy in question, Dan, Kieran, Michael? Some common name that Esme would whistle off in her stories. He tries to put a barricade of his limbs in the way but when it becomes clear that I am not stopping and therefore momentum is on my side… he jumps away from me and tries pulling at my coat.

As if I had walked into an open brothel spying upon their vulnerabilities, the kitchen staff rush to alert as they try and order me to leave but they seem bemused when I break through the mass of them like skittles and find the door I am looking for.

'You can't go in there, Sir, Mr King is away-'

And with one well-measured kick of my weight into the cheap wood, the door fractures and I find a nearby extinguisher to help me beat a path through. Prattling behind me, some of the bird's squawk about the police being on their way. Funny how empty the threat was when I didn't care as to the consequences.

But the foolish girl is right. King isn't here.

There's pictures of his family on the desk. Important numbers… porn stashed in and probably on the computer. Had I been a good citizen, had I felt even willing to shift my focus away from its one objective, I might have thought to take it. Instead, I drag down the filing cabinets, letting the scream of metal pound to the floor as I kick through several files that might be important for HR's sake.

Staff are avoiding the threat of my fury like attentive victims.

At least I'm not screaming.

And what's perhaps better, or worse, I didn't usually believe in guns. Or rather, I firmly believe in gun control, I had proudly voiced that belief in the past. How foolish I had once been.

I pull several more cabinets in the way, more to be a nuisance now, and coming back towards the computer I wrench a few drawers open with a tough grip.

The stupid, stupid man has left letters of his address and I take one up into my grip and walk, coolly and without interruption back to the car. Edward is now on the phone with Alice, but quickly hangs up when I spin the car into a sharp reverse.

'He wasn't there?' He guesses, asking for confirmation. I don't bother offering him the satisfaction. 'I said-'

'Don't say a word to me. Don't open your mouth unless you want to be next in the line of firing.'

He tugs the letter from my grip, reading the address and checks his own phone. He is either sucking up, letting guilt speak for him, misunderstanding English or coming to some, unexpected form of sense.

'You need to take a left on the corner and turn left at the roundabout-'

I follow his instructions but not traffic laws and instead, drive on the left when taking the ring road. I hear his curse under his breath and utter a few prayers when I slam to car to anther stop outside a large house. This time, I hear him get out the car and though I want to tell him to either sit under the wheels or stay out of my eye line, at the very least I knew Esme would forgive him.

That's what I was doing. I was using Edward as bait.

Rather than knock on the door, I find a convenient entrance by launching a plant pot through one of the French doors. Luckily, the city was one partial to great summers and not terrible winters which meant that double glazed windows were not a consideration to all folk, regardless of wealth.

The ceramic plant pot shatters the glass with a whistle, likewise cracking upon the tiled floor with dead soil and seeds pouring over the walkway like water.

'Hey King,' I yell, attempting to entice him out of his cubby hole. I trudge the soil into pristine carpets and scream out once more, Edward close by like an untrustworthy journalist. A small south American lady, wearing a painfully tight yellow uniform, is hiding behind a wall and at the further shrill clash of something behind me, suddenly runs forth, pleading with me in Spanish, not to hurt her.

My Spanish isn't ideal but it was sufficient to get the point across as I asked 'Where the dog was?'

'Signor King?' she clarifies, tearfully as we both move impatiently towards her as if to engage the haste of time. Her response has my eyes rolling. Like I would really hurt her. What would be the point other than to waste time?

She insists that he's gone. He's gone. He said he'll be gone for the weekend. He won't be coming back till later in the week. She is part begging, part convincing herself that she doesn't know. I reiterate several times that I'm not going to hurt her. Understandably, it does little to settle her qualms.

'Do you think she's telling the truth?' I ask Edward.

He hesitates.

'I-I don't speak Portuguese.'

'Spanish.' I correct impatiently. 'She says he's gone for the weekend.'

There was no car in the drive. No flowers have been left out to water, no fruit in the bowl, no signs of an open home life. Edward's mouth turns down when he looks the poor woman in the eyes. She was wringing her hands close to her chest as if holding them together in desperation.

As far as I was concerned, guilty people prayed too.

'She's not lying.' He decides and I am forced to agree.

Now I start to demand when the family are expected to return but she is already panicked beyond much comprehension. Not today, she insists. Definitely not today.

That sounds like a lie.

'I am not going to hurt you.' I seethe impatiently. 'But I will hunt him down until I find my friend. If you want the disease of his children to be spared from the slaughter-'

'Carlisle,' Edward whispers in horror. 'You're frightening her.'

'Good!' I snap. 'You should be frightened. You should be screaming, Edward, you should be paralysed. If the scum can touch her and manipulate her and beat her, what do you think he will do when she is alone?!'

For a moment, Edward's face slips from concern to hysterically frantic. He's looking at the small, sobbing woman. She's understood the English. If she was frightened before, she is overcome with misery and she tries desperately to convince me to spare her life, her hands wrenching into her long hair and the words becoming one long whimper.

She understood the English.

Edward doesn't need the translation this time.

'Oh my god, there's others.'

'I'm not a cop.' I assure her in hurried Spanish, aware that this had the risk of making her worse. I keep telling her I'm not a cop but I need to find my friend. Yet even as she sobs for Jesus to forgive her, she doesn't change her story. I hastily ask her name, ask if she has children's names, ask if she has a husband, any sense of grounding to entice her with….

She's sobbing so much that I doubt she could find the breath to lie. Wrenching some paper from my pocket I scrawl Masen's number and indicate, again in abuse of the language, that she is to phone this man. Not a cop. Phone this man. I struggle for the words to find legal protection. And direct her attention to other questions.

The family are gone for the weekend, fine. Who had he seen, who had he been in contact with? Had she seen him? Where was he going? Who was he with…

Did he… (I hated myself for thinking it), was he more than what I thought he was… if there were others… were they… alive?

She tries to say something about money. Her big brown eyes squint with frustration as she finds the English words for things like: Theft, violence, prayer and she keeps begging the Lord to forgive her.

'Ask her about the church.' Edward yells. 'Ask about Eustace?'

'You-?' I feel my own foundation shatter in my hands, my voice trembling 'You don't think…?'

Edward is right.

If he could turn a blind eye to child trafficking, to paedophilia and embezzlement and … oh God, did…. Did he really go this far? Did I doubt that he would go this far? The loyalty to him was just as bad as laying my hand at the crime scene. If he was involved, then there was only one true culprit. Me. I did this.

The young woman's face, the long hair tangled in strips from her damp neck, her tears shatter the fibres of my bones. With an emotional expression, she is nodding.

She recognises the name.

I don't let her plead for forgiveness any further than that. I am already making my way to Regent's Street.

With both hands still on the wheel, I find it easier control the nausea burning its way up the oesophagus. I can hold on just that little bit longer. And once I'd found her… once she was safe… I would end the lineage as quickly and as conveniently as possible.

I wouldn't let either of us poison any more of the world.

'She might not be with him,' he tries to reassure, silently. I catch one of my own thick tears before they fall much further and disgusted with the lack of restraints, I thickly clear my throat. 'She's not… I mean she's Esme. She not… dead.'

He is trying to convince himself. Scoffing doesn't help his argument.

'So help me, if you open your mouth again to make some ridiculous observation-'

Taking a gap that is far too narrow for my car, the screech of the metal clattering into the other vehicle, and leaving it steaming, is enough to shut him up. I keep my foot down, dangerously but at the impact, my arm instinctively reaches out across the passenger seat.

The car we knock off the curb takes a powerful hit, mine doesn't suffer a single cosmetic scrape and briefly seeing the driver uninjured but utterly bemused, I speed up again to pass back towards the centre of the road.

'Are you okay?' I ask automatically, forgetting that I was still plotting his funeral.

'Just keep going. The cops will be on us soon.'

I agree in a nod and pushing the speed limit even further, make the several turns onto the correct road. I am trying to work out if I can drive with enough speed to knock the metal gates down and stop in time to not hurtle ourselves over the marble fountain but before I have chance to, I realise the gates are welcoming me.

Open.

The feeling is like opening the veins at my wrist and pouring burning chemical acid inside so that it seeps down into the reaches of my person, burning and cauterising as it goes. It's like being gassed from the inside out.

The oath I took to save lives is the saving grace to the car stopping in time.

'Check the grounds.' I tell Edward, looking up to spot the darker edge of the evening. We didn't have much chance of environment being on our side. 'Check everywhere you can possibly think to check. The car won't make it across the grass so you'll have to run…'

I don't hear his agreement as I'm too busy letting myself into the house. Typically, and as arrogant as most millionaires tended to be, the house was similarly unlocked with the waft of incense candles dragging me in.

'The prodigal has returned.' I grumble mockingly but I hear my own voice echo painfully against the glass of the chandeliers. From sight, there was little I could see was put out of place. I hadn't made a point to remember the layout anymore. It was just a room full of familiar looking things.

Almost cautiously now, on the presumption he may be lurking in one of the many hidden areas, I check the rooms with a ferociousness to barely recognise much more than the human figure I'm looking for.

There's a mess of aged books in my father's study like a collage of paper pushed at the door. I imagine he must have done this in his fury come Saturday night but the damage he ensued to his beloved, priceless articles made my neck prickle.

The sweat is starting to pour from me now, either with fear or fury I couldn't tell but I still check every room, twice, and continue to try entice him out or catch him in the haste of escape.

The fallen echo of my tumbling cry is dying upon deaf ears. Not for the first time in my life.

For all I knew, they could've taken her to another state. They could be trying to get her out the country. It happened to me, so could it really be so farfetched as his other more extensive plots previous crimes?

She was old enough that on the threat of her life, she may be forced to do something unforgivable. Unless she's tried to defend herself of course…

Then she was just as surely at risk of being found dead in a hidden stretch of road.

The acid bears weight in my stomach. I could theoretically ask the group to split up. Some of them could watch King's apartment… the others could wait here. It was too dangerous to include the girls which would leave just the four of us… I knew Emmett and Jasper wouldn't hesitate but could I trust Edward now? Could I even trust myself to trust him? There just was not enough of us to cover everywhere. That was the other consideration.

And if we took it in the safety of pairs and waited… well there was a chance even we… Emmett with his strength, Jasper with his strategy. Just a couple of kids playing soldiers. We didn't have the arms.

I couldn't think like that. Of course she was alive. If my father was involved there was no way, he could've killed her. He would've valued the bargaining tool too much.

It was King that was the concern…

I yell for my father once more but there's still no reply to my terse shriek. Waiting was just as dangerous, I decide… I'd have to check the grounds.

Caught by a painting hanging along one of the hallways, a brief image of Esme sitting on the chair in our living room comes to mind. Her features seem tired, in memory she's eating from a bowl, wearing comfortable sportswear as she indicates the television, waving her spoon towards the screen and teasing about Daddy Issues…

My fingers weave themselves in hair, impatiently, feet moving, hands tense I try to consider the possibilities.

I might not be able to locate King but there were only a few locations my father would slink to. The immediate one was void, there was no one here. There were also no expected television appearances for a while.

That left the church.

Realising that I am launching myself towards the car, from the passenger side Edward shuffles over once more, regretfully indicating a nearly fruitless search.

'I checked everywhere, Carlisle. I followed the river as far as I could by foot and continued with the car. The entire grounds are empty. She's not here…'

I look towards him as I drive onto the street, briefly, little more than a second's pause. I hope he doesn't expect me to say it.

'But I found a can of maize in a flower bed?'

'Maize?' I repeat and then with a touch of difficulty. 'It wouldn't have been hers, she didn't own maize.'

'I thought you might say that… but.'

'But what?'

He gulps and rubs the back of his neck. 'Carlisle, it still means that even if it's not Esme's… it belonged to someone… likely a woman…'

'Stop.' I warn him.

I had the picture covered, I did not need to have it spelt out in detail, with the ability to spot the brushstrokes. I have to work on controlling my breathing a few times. Encouraging a route through my diaphragm in case the shame and the concern of her wellbeing led to the spontaneous combustion of it all.

I am trying to think on a prayer, on all the things I will return to the Lord on the insistence of her safety. And not just the typical return to Sunday routines. I offer my unrelenting soul, my entire commitment, anything that is desired, I would give it all.

If she was safe.

But a secondary fear is already clear to mind. Judgment had been borne…

'Just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned.'

'What?' Edward asks, whispering, unaware of the next location on mind…

I do not answer him, there's little point, he wouldn't get the sentiment behind it. With a distracted curse however, he looks behind him, eyes engorged. I can't really forgive the car going much faster without causing a danger but I trust Maddison's advice and give into it. I press my foot down harder.

'Carlisle, it's the cops.'

My eyes flicker again to the blinding blue lights in the rear-view mirror but the church isn't far and the chief of police will have another thing coming if he dares to think I will allow for his interruption when there were more pressing matters at hand.

As I come into the grounds of the building, I find myself instinctively cutting the engine in haste.

'Carlisle, the police-'

'They're here.' I whisper, indicating the two cars. I hated myself for recognising both.

I leave Edward to decide his own future and rushing up to the entrance, I try to see If I can hear a voice from the chapel… If Esme was with him… he would've locked her exactly where I had been locked as a child.

Hesitating, I move towards the head of the church, careful of any flowers I might be damaging in case this offends Him further. It was obvious to me how at his mercy I was… I would be respectful in that. With my breath loud in my ears, I hurry through one of the back entrances into the sacristy. Edward is not far at my heels, the guilt as motivation, keeping a poor watch while I silently try to crane my hearing, and my steps to take note of the obvious.

The important thing was that she wasn't here. The panic trembles on my shoulders, bearing into the bone like steel nails. I wanted to believe she was with Alice. Or at the hospital trying to find us too but the weight in my gut, the pulling of my soul into the earth said more than fate ever could.

There was no way she had not been harmed.

What's worse is that in the Pulpit, the two figures were the only people who knew exactly where she was… killing them would in turn kill her. If they hadn't already-

Unable to contain myself much further, I find my hand forcing the door open before I can plead to reason as saviour. The scene I happen upon is a haunting one.

Despite the dramatic difference in postures, my father has King by the throat, pushing him as hard into the church walls as the stone will allow. Even from here I can hear his gargled screams demanding for an explanation and as King chokes, my father tightens his grip.

He would be a murderer. If he wasn't already… he was only a few seconds from the crossover…

'Do you realise what you have done?!' Eustace continues to bellow, bearing force into that gluttonous neck as King's complexion bleeds from bloodshot to near loss of life. Clawed hands pull against the robed clasp of the Pastor, desperately trying to ease the vice tight grip.

If the board could ever witness my inability to move in this very instance… I would be forced to mourn the loss of license.

Better to mourn a license than to mourn someone.

'This was not the Lord's work!' My father cries hysterically. 'What you did was damnable and unforgivable. You have condemned us all.'

'Hey,' I yell breaking into a run towards them. With an unexpected face of concern, my father, startled, drops King into a heap. I don't recognise the expression on his next look but he stays where he stands and almost welcomes the fight he expects to come between us.

I ignore his open stance and pulling a half unconscious King off the floor with hand curled around his shirt, I flex my hand into an automatic fist into the right side of his, flat, heavy, wrinkled face. He groans and trying to deflect what he expects to be my next hit, raises his hands in protest.

'Where is she?' I howl. 'What have you done to her?!'

I scream and plead and freak with such a veracity that I fail to notice my father carefully slipping out of the firing line. Unlike his companion, his expression is haunted. He looks at me as the jury to his crimes.

He looks at me… with regret.

With a dry, forced laugh, King ignores the threats of my hands or my words and allows the onslaught to fall against an arrogant and proud grin. He refuses to answer, and even if I shake the breath from his throat, the smug smile never leaves his face.

'Carlisle!' Edward warns from behind me, but it's too late.

As I throw King into the cold clay behind him, hands ready to strangle him but not yet engaging their -Charlie Swan grasps a hold of my tensed shoulders and tearing me back with desperation, murmurs firm warnings in my ear.

'That's enough.' He repeats softly and sensing my restraint, he pulls my hands behind me and locks them at the base of spine into metal handcuffs.

'They've done something to her.' I repeat, shouting thickly despite the new wave of emotion clawing up from me. 'They've done something to her, they've hurt her.'

With his hand on my shoulder, he drags me guiltily out the entrance doors, grasping me out the scene as if a hero in great fire. I don't recall his exact words requesting assistance into the radio at his breast but he speaks quickly, shaken at the image.

'Calm now...' He tugs me, quite literally kicking and screaming into the back of the police car and instructs Edward to follow with the nod of his head.

The words don't come from me, I have busied myself with trying to force my way out of the metal restraints, either from the handcuffs or car…. The reminder of the last instance involving handcuffs bears a heavy weight on me, and unable to shield myself from the onslaught of grief, I wrench my eyes closed and groan, twisting my hands together in hope it would create space.

'Your boss tipped us off,' he explains when I have finally silenced my screams into plans for revenge. I had been smart to do so. The more I screamed, the less likely he was to let me go. He sees my expression at the exposure of the tip off.

Obviously I was less than pleased but I could not say I was surprised. Maddison had wound the clock up, he had every right to fear release. My jaw has started to ache from the tension of wiring it closed. My jaw hurt, my wrists were uncomfortable and I was proudly refusing the desperate need to let my lungs expand.

He bows his head sympathetically, slowing his voice.

'Carlisle, this isn't helping. All it's doing is distracting us from what's important-'

'He's done something!' I seethe trying to kick the car chair, it makes that stupid flat restrained rubber sound as it struggles to ripple. He doesn't flinch as I wish he would.

'Without the evidence, or even the argument… Listen to me. We will find her, but we need you to stay home.'

'How could you say that?!' I demand. 'How could you even suggest-'

'Son, it has barely been 24 hours. Most missing persons turn up before then and when they do… they turn up somewhere familiar.'

Most.

He was using statistics.

I felt sick to the core.

'You're not arresting me.' I come to realise, spitting the words off my tongue. It just proved the depth of the extent to which he was casting me off. Charlie shakes his head, once.

'No. Go home Cullen. Go home, and if you dare to leave before I find she's back…. Well…' He shakes his head as if it might convince me otherwise. 'Don't think I'll make the same mistake twice. You scared a lot of people today. You're lucky than your reputation is otherwise infallible…'

I have to bite my tongue so hard that the blood slips loosely down my throat.

'Thank you, Sir.'

I glare at the Kid and watch the frustrated interchange between him and Charlie. Even if I didn't slaughter him, there was still a chance that Officer Swan might. At the very least for letting his only daughter get caught up with us.

As far as I was concerned, the Kid was still responsible, liable, and to put it simply, lucky to be alive and I don't hesitate to remind him of that once we are home, forced upon the confines of our walls with the front door slamming behind the officer like a song of finality.

He tries to avoid catching my eye for the first hour. It's not that hard of a task.

I press myself close to the tall windows, my skin set against the glass so that the gentle drizzle almost patters down on me. It's dark now. Getting later. If she wasn't back in the next few hours, then I had every reason to phone her family and start offering funeral aid.

She wasn't stupid. She wouldn't have hurt herself… but she also wouldn't have avoided the situation that may incidentally lead to her being harmed, too.

If she was found in a ditch… she'd be lucky… alternatives were locked in a boot, in a shed, on the sea bed…. The venom is clawing at my throat now, making my teeth hurt the harder I clamp my words down.

'Here,' Edward murmurs and I notice in the reflection he is holding out a cup to me. I don't acknowledge him. 'Carlisle, please?'

I avoid looking at him still, waiting for him to leave but he doesn't. He pinches his trousers and lowers himself to the coffee table, eyes on the floor.

It was such a peculiar choice and what struck me was how fiercely I could place the image. Of him pushed against the cupboard doors of his kitchen back in Chicago, glaring at his hands, sulking as he was reprimanded for something pathetic. He used to snivel then, a flushed youthful face stretched into a stern glare as he fought with not bearing the feeling.

'She's not dead.' I murmur, more for my own benefit, watching as the words fog up the window.

'No.' he agrees, quietly, disbelievingly. 'Of course she's not.'

'He couldn't have done that…' I tell the room, briefly turning my jaw a fraction in his direction. 'He admires her too much…'

It sounded like a lie but it wasn't. He would respect what he couldn't control… and as much as he might want to force her into submission, there was a part of him thrilled by the rebellion. I knew it. I knew it from the dinner table. I could familiarise myself with the very pull of curiosity…

My teeth start to grind together again.

'Emmett…' Edward lowers his voice. 'I know it isn't the time but Emmett's worried about Rose...'

I turn behind me to where he is whispering, trying to work out what stupid equation he was making to insist on bringing this up...

'He said that she's… well… she's not in a good place right now…'

'Oh leave it out,' I complain, dismissing the thought completely.

'No, really, Carlisle… The thought of Esme… Well, it's got her spiralling-'

He stops, the home phone as started to ring, with wide eyes we both fight to grab it and letting him win on account of my hoarse throat, I take the seconds to try and abandon Emmett's worries, too.

'It's Charlie.' He says, holding the receiver with a grasp. 'They know where she is. She's alive.'

The joints holding me straight start to buckle as his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He's spinning on his heels, nodding in thought regardless of the fact that Charlie can't see him.

'We'll wait to hear from you…' I hear Edward whispering… 'I understand…'

'What?' I interrupt. 'What is it? Where is she? Is she at the hospital-?'

But the phone cuts off.

'Well?! I demand.

His young features look guilty for a second but owning the responsibility with a breath, he tries again to approach me from a better side.

'He wouldn't say. He just said that she's alive and that she's… safe.' He's started to pace around the room, his fingers playing tunes into his hair.

'Where is she? Is she coming-' I refuse to use that four letter word. This wasn't a home, not anymore. 'Back?'

Edward shrugs helplessly, replacing the phone back with a frown.

'So what do we do now?!' I ask, looking towards the empty living room.

It was four walls of cold walls now. It was an attempt at safety and an image of failure. It felt more like a showhouse with nothing worth showing.

'We wait…' he supposes.

'Yes well, some of us are clearly more comfortable with the stain upon their conscience than others.'

I almost don't mean for the words to come out. I was cruelly punishing him with tiny criticisms here and there, letting the sharp bite nick his skin. This wound broke open his flesh like an axe to paper. In the stark room of two furious souls, he weighs up the threat of acknowledging the comment.

He looks tired now. Tired, forlorn, regretful, miserable… and so young.

'I get it.' He spits, casting a glare over his shoulder at me. 'I get that you're angry Carlisle, I get that you blame me… but before you mark my hands with blood, let's not forget who started all this.'

The bravery of his stance, feet centred into the carpet… Here he stood… denying the role.

He wasn't getting away with this. Not this. Not after what he did to her.

Not. This. Time.

'You knew better, Edward. You sat there and begged her not to trust me, you spent every waking moment reminding me of my mistakes and the moment she needed you, you sold her soul to this.'

'Sold her soul?!' He repeats incredulously, fists balled tightly at his thighs.

'You're not just a hypocrite, you set her up for-'

'I set her up?!' He questions again, now stalking towards me. I could push him down so easily, it could be an accident. 'Don't doubt that you took someone vulnerable, someone broken and desperate and you made her a shell-'

'She is not broken!' I defend fiercely, towering over him as my arms come flailing out. 'How dare you even suggest-'

'You can't even tell her the truth-'

'What do you know of the truth, child?!' His green orbs bore into my eyes like a challenge. 'Your privilege protects you, your tiny, meaningless romances, your pathetic career concerns…'

His vacuous and vapid life choices…

'It's no wonder you have no one! Even the people who try to build you up, you trample on like the great saint you are-'

'I am not a saint.' I insist, feeling the words vibrate in the stifled air pressed tightly between us. 'But at least I can own up to that. At least I don't have to convince myself I'm better than I am just to maintain a shred of worth-'

'You're a coward.' He screams. Those flat hands of his press sharply into either side of my chest, knocking me on my heels. The shock of the act fires electricity through me like volts, my hands tremble with rage and taking carefully measured steps, I ensure that when I next stand to him, the bitter stench of his fear seeps into the depths of the room.

'Coward?' I say with a sharp laugh. 'You think me a coward?'

'You run at the slightest hint of change, you can't even stay anywhere long enough to-'

'You know what's brave, Edward?' As I take a step towards him, he moves back, the grey shirt of his damp with sweat, the middle of his ribs rising rapidly in beat to his erratic breathing.

'Brave,' I go on to explain with carefully designed softness… 'is never staying long enough to call somewhere home… Brave is spending every second of your life alone, abandoned, and disregarded and still having hope in people… Brave is facing both your abuser and their sympathiser every day for ten years and never succumbing to revenge. Brave is running, always running because every second you stop, someone gets hurt. Brave is holding those memories, bearing them like skin and still living. Brave is being hunted, haunted every waking moment of your day. It's never getting close, keeping everyone at arm's length, it's trusting and protecting and taking ownership of that hurt-'

I have come so close to him now, he's on the floor, hands unfurled on the threads of the rug, watching me with pleading, desperate and fierce utterances.

'Brave is putting your faith into those who will only let you down…' taking a hold of him by the neckline of his shirt, I pull him towards me, his nose under mine so that he shivers and the panic slides out from under him.

'I may be many things. I'll go on to be many things, not all of them good. A coward is not one of them.'

'Preach your lies to someone who'll care!' he roars emotionally, shifting desperately away from my reach. I clench my hand tighter, pulling him closer, raising a wound fist. 'We both know He isn't listening.'

'Think of it this way…' I urge, sinisterly. 'It's not about who the Lord listens to… it's about who He can depend on.'

He curls up under my stance, an arm raised above his head to protect the reign of slaughter. I would relish this. I would commit to the silencing of his lies and I would breathe once it was over. With my stance heavy, I push the weight of my body tight into the grasp I have at his neck, seconds from stopping that roaming blaspheme of his.

'Clearly your father's son!' he gasps beneath my arms and in a fit of rage, I push him so hard into the floor I feel the rush of air leave him.

I would kill him.

I would take this foolish lamb and I would slaughter him as offering.

I would silence him forever more.

And.

And.

And yet.

My clawed hand wavers on his sternum. I can feel the sting of his heartbeat under my hand, the beat of his chest, the gasp of his furious sobs. With gritted teeth, I try to remember what I will achieve.

His silence. His submission..? His coercion?

He continues to part sob, part gasp breathlessly, like a child. Just how he did when he was younger, as he followed at my heels, wanting me to play with him, wanting me to explain to him, wanting my attention, my loyalty, my trust. Wanting me to engage with him.

And what did I get from that? What did this small nuisance actually give me?

Well.

Initially… a purpose.

He gave admiration at first, curiosity, trust, faith… all the blissfully naïve promises of childhood. He gave ideas, belief, promises, creativity... and then… favour, wonder, interest.

It wasn't just his four-year-old impressionable curiosity, clinging onto my ankles. It was him at twelve years old sneaking me in at night, sobering me up, hiding the secrets. It was cynical comments regarding the speed I drove at, the cigarettes I smoked, the isolation I lived in. At sixteen it was forgiving me for being his father's preferred choice, it was accepting my distance and loving me anyway, never faulting in his admiration.

At seventeen, it was meeting Esme, loving her, supporting her like a brother. At eighteen it was trusting me enough to not hurt her. It was demanding my presence in his group of friends and not relenting till I was known.

At twenty, it was letting me love her in spite of what I was. At twenty years, nine months, one week and three days, it was letting me use him as a punch bag, it was exercising ways to be supportive and cautious, it was hunting two men around town on the threat of harm.

Not the evidence.

The threat.

I said jump, he said 'how high?'

And who was I?

Who was I with my arm raised in threat to my brother, to the very ground beneath my feet, my support, my lifeline, my friend and my sole partner, quite literally, in crime. Now, with my steel arm raised towards him, my teeth bared and his posture crushed under me… I was the very monster I had feared. I was my father.

Gasping a little, I hurriedly pull myself off him, far away from him, launching myself to the other side of the wall and barricading myself beneath my knees with tort, heavy sufferings. The Kid is alarmed at first, open eyes and long nose making noise as he pantomimes the freedom of movement again. Holding a hand to his throat, he rubs the area where my hand had clung to, gasping and inspecting.

'Holy shit,' he utters in between further desperations for breath. 'I actually thought you were going to kill me there…'

The sweat pools from my forehead and calming like I had finished a marathon, I nod, apologetically, in a twisted agreement.

'So did I…'

We both shudder.

'Well...' his voice is unrecognisable for a second. He waits a bit longer to see if he can talk without the screech. It makes my ears bleed. 'That was a low point.'

He rests his forehead on a knee, hair falling over it as his spine moves in deep, harrowed breaths. His shirt is crumpled and crinkled at my hands. The healer in me instinctively moves towards him but as he shifts, uncomfortable, guilty smile at his lip, I remember that I did that to him.

I hurt him.

'No offence.' He murmurs, lifting a hand in surrender.

We sit in silence for several moments. The heat in the house is compressing upon my spine like a low ceiling, the hum of the house electricals being the only sound as the dark fell upon us.

I waited… until she was declared safe… to attack him. The core of my torso shakes with each inhale.

'How did you know?' he whispers.

I peer up in the dark, noticing briefly how we sat in the same way the same stance with the same dark look on our face, each pushed against furniture. The fact I look at him directly if enough of an encouragement to continue.

'When… when I told you that she wasn't at the coffee shop… you knew it was King.'

'I don't know,' I correct, lowly.

'But…but you were so certain… even now…'

'Even now if you put me within reach, I doubt I would have the self-control not to…' I think about my words, his open expression… 'hurt him…'

'You knew she hadn't just… gone…' he says, eyebrows furrowed.

'I… I'm not the person you should hear this from.' He looks bored by such a ridiculous comment, his eyes on the verge of rolling.

'You're not understanding me…' he complains, irritably.

With a bruised knuckle, I find myself fiddling through my coat pockets. My work badge was in here, my lanyard, pens, a phone… How ugly these hands were, how tainted?

'I guess; hope?'

'It can't just be hope.' He dismisses, distastefully.

The headache is now starting to thump along my skull.

'Think on it this way…' I say slowly, visualising with difficulty, pausing and not recognising the sound of my voice. 'Think of a stab wound… The first port of call, aside from assessing the damage, is to slow or stop the bleeding. The second is to remove the article.'

He waits for me to elaborate, still holding that distance as he flicks on lights. He was expecting me to be looking at him, but I'm not. I was too ashamed for that right now. I felt too safe against the door, listening desperately for the sound of car tyres.

'You took the path of lesser damage?' he realises.

I feel my chin move in a nod. 'The blade is yet to be removed.' I murmur to myself.

Luckily Edward isn't interested in the nonsense that fell from mŷ mouth. In fact, he has stopped, his hands are held around him as he looks with a frown to the window, chin tilted upwards as he listened to the noise. Wheels… a vehicle... movements and whispers.

Oh.

She actually came … back.