Forwarded To My Future

by Foenix2phorks

Complete. Bella is resigned to living a boring and unfulfilling life until she's old enough to graduate. But that was before fate stepped in. Looking up from her lunch tray, she sees four perfectly sculpted, pale faces - plus a bronze-haired, green eyed boy known for his gentility. He's not like the other boys in Forks. Can he help make her life a little more interesting? AU.

21. Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is

Chapter 21- Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

March 5, 2005

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After a quick trip to the bathroom, I try to get comfortable in my chair. I nibble on a cracker smeared with peanut butter while my old computer gradually wheezes to life. I don't normally use this thing for web browsing. It's pitifully slow about loading up webpages. The only reason I turn it on at all is to check my emails every day or two. But I'm on a special mission tonight. The chance of sneaking a peek into Edward's past life in Chicago is something that I can't pass up.

I double click the web browser icon and wait some more. You can't rush this PC. It's like a stubborn mule - you have to be patient, treat it gently, and take your time about doing anything. If you click too fast or bring up too many programs at the same time, it will punish you by crashing and forcing you to do a restart.

I sip on my bottled water and eat until everything is up and running. My lips pucker musingly as I decide on what I should type in first. It's probably best if I start with something easy.

Following a quick wiggle of my fingers to get them warmed up, I begin tapping on the keyboard.

Edward Masen, Forks, WA

Hitting enter, I sit back in my chair and patiently watch the browser. The stupid advertisements are slowing down my internet speed, but at least my computer isn't freezing. Around forty-five seconds into my wait, the search engine is done and I can sift through the results. I'm not too disappointed when all I see are two articles showing him on the honor roll at Forks High. The rest of the fifty or so results do not relate to him at all. I had a feeling there wouldn't be much information tying him here. He has only lived in the area since last summer.

My mouse pointer rolls to the top of the page and I delete Forks from the search. In its place, I type in Chicago and hit enter. I'm more excited for this search query. Since Edward shares the same name as his father, I should see more hits.

Eagerly moving closer to the computer monitor, I read the first few results and see that I made the search too broad. It's showing me everyone in Chicago with the first name Edward or the last name Masen, but no Edward Masens. I decide to add in quotation marks around his name and hit the enter key again.

Your search - "Edward Masen" Chicago - did not match any documents.

My forehead furrows. That's weird. His name and hometown are spelled correctly. Between father and son, I expected that I would see a ton of search results right away.

I get the idea to change the search box to show Edward Anthony Masen and his city. But after a long wait, I still get nothing.

Taking out the Anthony, I leave only the letter A as his middle initial. I get no hits yet again.

My fingernails drum on the desk while I stare at the screen. I must be doing something wrong. Or Google suddenly changed the way their search engine operates. Maybe they're having technical difficulties and the quotation marks are throwing them off. Because otherwise, I should have seen something by now.

After a quick brainstorming session, I come up with the idea of doing a test search. I'll keep the quotation marks but change the search terms to someone else. Me.

"Bella Swan" Phoenix

A short time passes and the search page comes up. I see lots of entries. There must be another Bella Swan besides me who has lived in Phoenix within the past few years. This other Bella created a blog to record her journey across America in her motor home. Scattered in between references to her, I find a little information about me. There are a bunch of honor roll listings from the past three years. I also notice an old school newspaper article which mentions that I won third place in the Earth And Space Sciences category at the science fair during my freshman year. It helped that there were only five entrants in that category. All I did was cover a Styrofoam ball with spackle to create some texture, spray painted it red, and then christened it the planet Mars. Frankly, I think I impressed the judges with my research material more than my art skills.

Continuing my Google search experiment, I type in Charlie's name and city next. I'm blown away by the amount of articles and webpages that turn up. He is named on the city of Forks website. There are numerous regional newspaper stories where he was interviewed. Most are updates on traffic accidents and similarly mundane things. However, there are a couple of articles where he had an actual crime to deal with and not just harmless teenage hijinks. I see an obituary which lists him as one of the deceased's pallbearers. I find websites which list his address and home phone number. There are even companies offering to reveal past bankruptcies, divorces, and his criminal history - which I get a nice laugh out of since he is one of the most law abiding people you could ever meet.

Since the search function seems to be working properly now, I delete Charlie's information and retry Edward's name and hometown. And I get the same results as the first time. Nothing.

My fingers snatch another cracker from the box and I grumpily stuff it inside of my mouth. This shouldn't be hard to do. I'm a fairly intelligent person. I should be mentally capable of handling a Google search. It's not like this is rocket science.

During my quiet introspection, I come up with a plausible theory concerning why I'm not finding anything on him. Maybe Edward and his family didn't live or work in the city of Chicago. They probably lived in a suburb. When asked where they live, people often say the name of the metropolis they live nearby instead of the small town from which they really reside. Though, if that is the problem, I will have a tough time figuring out where he lived if I don't find some clues.

I munch on a few more peanut butter crackers and construct a new strategy. Since Edward's dad was a lawyer, it should be fairly easy to find something on him if I readjust the search query. I'll take out Chicago and only use his profession.

"Edward Masen" lawyer

More than a minute later, the results appear. All I can find are two Edward Masens who work as lawyers on the North American continent - one in Toronto, the other in Charlotte, North Carolina. I immediately change lawyer to attorney but I get the same search results. So I add in his middle initial once again. And after a long wait (where an ad for a discount superstore slows my computer down to an evolutionary crawl), I receive the dreaded "your search did not match any documents blah, blah, blah".

My back slumps into my chair and I glare at the Google logo. This isn't going as well as I had anticipated. Evidently, the childhood I spent reading the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew series of books did not adequately prepare me for sleuthing.

Why can't I find anything on Edward? Sure, I found references to him living in Forks, but why am I not seeing anything from before he moved here? It's as if he did not exist before 2004.

And as for his dad, why can't I come up anything? The firm he worked for should at least have a web page devoted to his memory. Hell, I should see an obituary too if the funeral home that was used has a website (which many do now). How can a successful attorney who was once a boxer not have one word written about him? This doesn't make sense. You can't live in this day and age and not leave a trace of yourself online. Well, I guess you could slip through the cracks if you lived on a deserted island or somewhere similarly isolated, but Illinois is not exactly the wilderness.

A new burst of determination demands that I sit up and type in another search term. I've tried looking for the men of the Masen family and failed. Maybe it will be easier to find the matriarch.

"Elizabeth Masen" Chicago

The computer sputters and spins as it scours the world wide web. And, after I patiently wait for almost a full minute, I am rewarded with a few hits. I eagerly scroll down the page. My hopeful smile turns progressively sour. The only Elizabeth Masen in Chicago it is showing me owns the largest assortment of handmade quilts in Cook County. I know this because one of her grandsons posted a picture of her standing in front of her collection on her seventy-third birthday. I see no information on Edward's mother.

Another idea inspires me to try again. I type Edward's name back in and only add the state of Illinois. Unfortunately, the only Edward Masen in the state (according to the search engine) is a thirty year old from Springfield - the state capital.

Exactly as my fingers are threatening to rip my hair out by its roots, a creaking sound ricochets through the quiet house. I freeze in place and listen. A hefty dose of fear creeps into my bloodstream. Someone is walking around downstairs.

"Bella?"

The breath I had been holding rushes out. It's just Charlie back home from Port Angeles.

"I'm in my room!" I shout.

While I am waiting for him to come upstairs, I glance back at the computer screen. Edward's name is sitting there in plain view. And Charlie will be up here at any moment. Having him realize that he lives with a budding cyber stalker will only lead to awkward questions that I am not prepared to deal with.

Scrambling around like a lunatic, I swipe the computer mouse back, delete Edward's name, and type in the very first thing I can think of. After hitting the enter button, my computer takes its sweet time in bringing up the new search results. Heavy footsteps begin their march up the stairs. My fingers clasp together in a pleading gesture, silently begging the old electronic geezer to go a little faster for once. My computer finally shows me mercy. Right as the bedroom door knob turns, Edward Masen's search page disappears and the new search page starts to load up.

The door opens and Charlie scans the room until he sees me at my desk. He stands in the doorway - his mustache twisting to the side - as he takes a moment to observe me.

"I figured you'd be in bed by now. It's almost one o'clock in the morning," he points out.

My shoulders shrug, feigning innocence. "I wasn't really sleepy. I decided to browse the internet for a little while."

He nods and casually glances at my computer monitor. Then he blinks confusedly. "I didn't think that you were interested in sports," he says, putting emphasis on the last word.

My head whirls around to where he is staring and I read what I had typed in. My resulting groan is barely suppressed. Of all the things on the planet that I could have pretended to be looking up, I use this as my cover story? Boxing? This is just great. Charlie is going to call in a shrink to psychoanalyze me if I tell him the real reason why boxing is on my mind - namely, that Edward punches like a fighter who was active before boxing gloves were mandatory. Actually, Charlie will probably be worried regardless if I tell him the truth or not. For me to suddenly express an interest in anything sports related is unprecedented. I haven't exactly made my dislike for sports a secret.

I slap on a weak smile and chuckle nervously. "Oh, um, he he he. I'm not really into boxing, Dad. I was, uhhh...trying to remember the name of that guy who sells those neat little electric grills? Yeah. Do you know what I'm talking about? I was thinking about how nice it would be to cook both sides of a steak at the same time. I mean...just think of the time it could save us."

Charlie lowers his gaze to the carpeted floor for several beats, his forehead wrinkled downwards. Soon, his face pops back up. "Do you mean George Foreman?"

I smile wider and bob my head up and down like a moron. "That's it! The George Foreman Grill. Thank you. Maybe I'll ask for one next Christmas."

He moves out of the doorway and walks to the desk where I sit. New, worried lines form in between his chestnut eyebrows. "Bells? Are you - uh - feeling all right?"

I lose the fake smile and look back seriously. "I'm fine."

He studies my face for a short stretch, then nods in acceptance of my claim. "Good. That's, err, very good."

After he says this, his eyes dart away to admire my paperback book collection which sits on my tiny bookshelf. His fingers begin awkwardly stroking his mustache, a nervous habit he sometimes does under certain stressful situations.

I squint up at him suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

Like a guilty child, he looks back at me with big eyes. "I have some news that I need to share."

As if sensing the distressing nature of what he wants to tell me, my knee jiggles under the desk. The news must be very bad. Like, there isn't enough evidence to press charges against the guy who attacked me tonight. Or, he posted bail and he's free to come find me and finish the job he started.

I close my eyes in a wince, bracing myself for the worse. "What is it?"

"It's about Wallace, the man that - you know - tried to hurt you. He is going to be extradited to Texas within the next few days."

My face snaps back up. "Why?" I ask warily.

"He...," Charlie trails off uncomfortably, barely able to maintain eye contact. "Umm. He's done...things like this before. The authorities down there have been after him for a long time. And he's wanted in Oklahoma, too."

"Oh." That's all I can say. How many people did he assault before he stumbled upon me? And how many of them never had the chance to get away?

Charlie's arm appears around the back of my neck in a half hug. "He's facing a lot of charges in both states. They have enough evidence on him that it's almost guaranteed that he will be found guilty on multiple offences... So that's why I-"

He abruptly stops speaking. Since he is hugging me from behind, I cannot see his face. I extract myself from his hold and stare up at him, silently entreating him to finish what he was planning to say.

Not seeming to know what to do with his hands, he uneasily places them upon the back of my chair. He exhales and says, "I have decided that it would be best if we avoid going to trial."

The corners of my mouth turn down slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you won't ever have to see or hear about him ever again if you don't want to," he answers. "I didn't think it would in your best interest to put you through the stress of going after him when he is already looking at getting at least a life sentence - and that's if he is lucky."

I sit stock still. The information slowly penetrates my mental defenses. That guy isn't getting out of jail. I won't need to constantly check over my shoulder when I go out. He will spend the rest of his life far, far away. I won't be required to sit on a witness stand while he smirks from across a courtroom. His defense team won't paint him as an innocent man while they attack my character, attempting to sow doubt within the jury. I can put this behind me, knowing that he's rotting away where he can't hurt anyone like me ever again. And I can go on living my life.

Charlie gently shakes me by the shoulder, calling for my attention. I look up at him and see a hint of concern returning. "Bella? If you don't agree with what I did, we can still go after him. I can talk with the authorities up there and tell them that I've changed my mind. We can do whatever you want."

"No," I murmur, still in a half daze as I shake my head. "You did the right thing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Charlie nods and squeezes my shoulder. "All right," he says softly, his voice the gentlest that I have ever heard out of him.

He backs up a pace and a short time goes by. "So..." he begins in a more normal speaking voice. "Were you aware that when I pulled into the driveway a few minutes ago, that boy of yours was still here?"

My mouth drops. I said goodnight to Edward when it was almost 10:30. It's 12:44 right now. He sat outside of my house for over two hours?

I jump from my chair, intending to go to my window to see this sight for myself, but Charlie catches my upper arm before I take another step. "He's already gone. I sent him home," he announces.

Grudgingly, I flop back onto my desk chair. I could have spent another two hours with Edward if I had only known he was outside. "What was he doing out there?" I wonder.

Charlie cocks his eyebrow. "Well, he was in his car when I first noticed him. He said that he was waiting to see if I had any new information about that man in Port Angeles." Then, Charlie stares as though he's waiting for me to figure out the real reason for myself.

It doesn't take long. I think I know why Edward stayed out there for all of that time.

He was watching out for me until Charlie could get home.

Shame stings my conscience. While I was up here trying to dig into his business, he was sitting out there for over two hours just in case I needed him.

I am a terrible maybe, kinda girlfriend.

"He's a good kid," adds Charlie, scratching at his nose.

"Yeah," I breathe out, staring straight ahead. "He is."

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I spend my night sleeping with Edward. Dream Edward, of course. Dream Edward is just as protective as his real life counterpart, staying by my side no matter what materializes before us - be it a monstrous creature that could tear us to bits, or Bozo The Clown threatening to toss banana cream pies into our faces.

When the two of us enter a beautiful green park, I am aware that none of this is real but it still feels like it. We take only a few steps inside when Dream Edward encourages me to hold onto his hooked arm even though I am walking around just fine. I humor him in his odd request without question (which is rare for me) and a pleased smile spreads across his face.

I briefly shut my eyes as I enjoy our stroll. It is a bright, beautiful day in this fantasy world. But as dreams often do, everything changes in the blink of an eye. The park and everyone in it suddenly drains of color - and only I seem to take notice. The trees and grass transition into a dull, lifeless gray. Edward's perfectly messy hair becomes a flat dark hue - the normally vibrant strands no longer gleaming with hints of cinnamon and copper. Shocked at the sight, I jerk to a stop and force Edward to do the same. Warily, my hand lifts until it is in front of my face. My pale pink skin is gone, replaced with a nearly eggshell white.

Seemingly unperturbed by the bizarre color scheme change that has occurred, Edward dips his free hand into his pocket and out comes his pocket watch. He deftly flips open the case. Then, as if time has been slowed down, he moves to hand me the watch.

I cup it in my hands, examining it the same way I did at that little café in Port Angeles a little over a month ago. Time marches on. Don't let it leave you behind, reads the message inside. I look below those words and study the signature of the man who had that engraved. It appears to shine brighter than before, almost like it is begging for my attention.

Obadiah A. Masen

"My grandfather," purrs Edward.

My head lifts and I meet his smoldering gaze. The color may have been robbed from his eyes, but I still become lost in them. As he leans in, I miraculously stop worrying about the unexplainable goings on around us. My mouth parts open, waiting impatiently for the feel of his lips on mine.

A shrill noise invades my dream and my eyes flap open. A songbird perched right outside of my bedroom window squawks like it has a megaphone held up to its little beak. I gradually come to realize that I am not standing in a park. Edward is not leaning down for a kiss. Instead, I am lying in bed wide awake because a stupid bird couldn't give me just one more minute to enjoy the good part.

Sunlight streams in through my bedroom window. It's much sunnier than it was yesterday. I remain unmoving in bed and enjoy the sight. I also think back on the dream. It felt so life-like, as if it was really happening. I clearly remember the park and everyone around us suddenly losing their color - looking just like Edward did last night in the alley. I remember the dream version of himself giving me the watch to examine, and how the name of his grandfather seemed to sparkle in front of me.

My body shoots up into a sitting position. I know Edward's grandfather's name. Obadiah A. Masen. I bet his middle name was Anthony too. And thanks to Edward's story last night, I know that he and Edward's father once lived in Iowa and that he had a farm. That could help me in my search!

My head swings towards the clock. It's 7:15. It's a Sunday, too. Since it is such a nice day, Charlie will be taking advantage of it. He'll probably be gone all day fishing. It isn't unusual for him to leave at dawn and not return home until the late afternoon. I'll have the house all to myself. I can snoop all I want without fear of Charlie breathing down my neck.

I rush over to my computer and turn it on. While it boots up, I go to the bathroom and take a shower. My stomach grumbles when I begin brushing my teeth, reminding me that I haven't had breakfast yet. I decide to hold off on doing any research until I get a bite to eat.

I'm practically skipping into the kitchen when my nose detects something burning. Shoving open the door, I see Charlie standing in front of the stove with a cloud of black smoke billowing around him.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

He whips around, armed with a spatula and a pan covered in an unidentifiable, burnt-on substance. The mustache on his face does a sheepish shimmy. "I was trying to make us breakfast."

I wander over and look closer at the pan he holds. "Umm... What is that?" I ask, trying not to crinkle my nose up.

His shoulders droop. "It was supposed to be a Western Omelette."

"Oh. Well, I think you waited a little too long to flip it."

Charlie coughs a little laugh. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I've never made an omelette before."

I look back up at him, scrunching my brow. "Why are you still here? Today's Sunday. Shouldn't you be out fishing at this time?"

He rubs his upper lip and glances away. "Sun's kinda too bright to be out on the water. Fish don't like biting when it's like that. I decided to just rest and hang around the house. Maybe watch some TV. And I need to fix that squeaky bathroom door, too... I don't really feel like fishing anyway."

My eyebrows rise up as far as they will reach. Charlie Swan has never, ever said those words before. I'm instantly suspicious.

"Dad. I've seen you get into your car and happily go fishing through just about any weather condition. You would probably fish on a boat during a hurricane if you had to. What's your real reason for staying home?"

He frowns and puts the pan he was holding into the kitchen sink. "I'm staying because I don't think it would be a good idea to leave today."

"Why? It's your day off. You should go out and have fun."

He stares down at me sharply. "I'm not leaving today," he stresses in a tone of finality.

My lips smash together irritably. It's pretty easy to guess what his problem is. "Do you think that I can't handle being alone anymore?" I snap, folding my arms defensively.

"Now, I didn't say that," he retorts carefully. "I just think that it would be best if we stick together today."

"Why?"

Charlie grimaces like a constipated tortoise. He doesn't want to tell me. So, I keep on staring at him. I plan on remaining this way until he gives me a good reason for staying home today. Sooner or later, he'll crack.

And he does. After around twenty seconds, he grumbles under his breath and gives up. "I was told to watch for signs of shock in the next few days," he confesses, frown lines etched around his mouth.

I drop my crossed arms and try to relax my glare. "I'm fine, Dad. That isn't going to happen."

"Yeah. You're probably right. But I'm still staying," he counters stubbornly.

My scowling does nothing to change his mind. Once I accept that he'll be around all day, I do the only thing that I can do - order him out of the kitchen so that I can make us a decent breakfast in peace.

We're eating at the kitchen table a short while later when he decides to throw another wrench into my plans. He decides that Mom needs to be informed of what happened in Port Angeles last night. My helpful reminders on how sensitive my mother is when it comes to bad news does nothing to sway him.

When we finish eating, I very reluctantly call her. Phil answers the phone. He tells me that she's out shopping with friends and won't be back for a few hours. He promises that he'll give her the message to call me back as soon as she walks through the door. I kind of want to tell Phil that he would be doing me a huge favor if he would just keep my phone call a secret. But Charlie might overhear me say that, so I keep my mouth shut.

With Charlie is being entertained by a sports report on the TV, I go upstairs and put my computer to work. I bring up the browser and type in Edward's grandfather's name and Iowa. I get one hit. Mysteriously, however, the lone search result indicates that the information is at a genealogical website. I click on it but they won't let me look at anything unless I have a paid account.

I frown at the screen until it occurs to me that Mom was once deeply into genealogy. For a few months, she diligently filled in her family's tree until it became too difficult to trace her older ancestors and she lost interest. There were a few genealogy memberships she used to help find information. She even came across a couple of living people on those websites who she is related to very distantly. Those people shared heaps of old photos and family documents in exchange for just a thank you. Mom might still have one or two accounts up and running. Since I have to call her anyway, I can ask which ones are useful and if she still has their login information. And if she does, I might even get lucky and find someone out there that has a photo of Edward's dad taken during his boxing days.

I shut the computer monitor off and head back downstairs to pass the time until Mom calls. I sit at the kitchen table and finish my English essay that's due in a few days. Next, I do some laundry and wash the dishes. Every so often, Charlie sneaks into the kitchen and pretends that he wants a drink of water. In return, I pretend that I don't know he is coming in here to make sure that I am not huddled in the corner of the room and staring vacantly into the distance.

It's right around ten o'clock when the phone rings. I hurry across the room and snatch the phone up to my ear.

"Hello," I answer.

"It's me."

My butt drops into a nearby chair. That isn't Mom. The voice is deep, crisp, and clearly masculine. Only one person I know sounds like that.

Edward.

"Oh. Um... Hi," I falter. I just spent the last twelve hours strategizing ways to track down details of his life before he moved to Forks. Thank goodness he can't see my face. One look and he would see that I am up to something.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. Nothing like that. I'm awake," I mutter hesitantly, my front teeth biting into a fingernail.

"OK," he slowly draws out. "How are you?"

"Fine. Everything's fine."

Edward huffs out a heavy sigh. "Bella. Are you just telling me that to ease my mind?"

Yanking my nail from my mouth, I take a cleansing breath. I think I am worrying Edward. I need to stop sounding so nervous. He can't see my face, I remind myself. As long as I don't sound as guilty as I feel, he will never know what I have been up to.

"No. I'm perfectly fine," I reassure him. "I've just been sitting around the house all morning waiting for my mom to call me back."

"Oh... Then I suppose that I should let you go so I don't tie up your line."

I sit up stiffly, clinging to the phone cord. "No! I mean... Don't hang up yet. We can talk for a little while longer."

"OK," he acknowledges in a glum tone.

My head tilts worriedly. "Are you all right, Edward?"

"I'll survive," he breathes out.

"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Should I be worrying about you?"

A rumbling chuckle comes from his end. "No."

My lips perk up a little at the sound he made. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing much. I worked on some homework and then stared at my ceiling until I could call you."

I snort a laugh. "Wow. That sounds fantastic. Seriously, Edward? No wonder you called me so early. You're bored out of your mind, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm not anymore," he replies, his voice oozing charm.

I roll my eyes but my smile is there too. "Sure."

"What about you? Have you been waiting by the phone all morning long for your mother to call?"

And there goes my smile. Hello, guilt. You weren't gone for very long at all, were you?

I lick at my dry lips and fidget in my chair. "No. I've been keeping myself pretty busy."

"Really? Doing what?"

"Umm... Well. I did some homework too. I finished that English essay. Messed around on my computer. Cooked breakfast for Charlie and me. You know... Stuff like that." That's pretty much the truth minus a couple of critical details.

"Where is he this morning, by the way?"

My mouth twists and I sigh in frustration at my overly anxious father. "On the couch. It's a beautiful day today. Usually he's out fishing on his days off from work. I keep telling him to go, but he's being stubborn. It's like he believes that he needs to babysit me now. I think he's too afraid to leave me alone in the house. Like I'll spiral into a post traumatic mess the moment he steps foot outside."

"He loves you, Bella. Last night was hard for him. I think he will be a little more protective of you for a while." He pauses and adds, "Have you told your mother yet?"

"No. That's one of the reasons why I'm waiting to talk to her. Charlie thinks that she needs to know," I explain with a frown.

"She does need to know," Edward says, sounding irritatingly in favor of Charlie's wish.

"That's a mater of opinion. You don't know her like I do. I'll be spending my entire conversation with the woman telling her not to jump on a plane. She's going to flip out."

Edward tries reminding me that I said something very similar about Charlie last night before I had to call him to come to Port Angeles. And, yeah, I guess maybe I did. But the difference between then and now is that I am not exaggerating this time. Charlie and Mom handle stress differently. To put it simply, he can handle it and she can't.

It's a little sad when I eventually have to hang up the phone, but if I stay on for much longer, I might miss Mom's call. A part of me wants to invite Edward over for a few hours. Though, after everything he had to do last night, I think he deserves a break from guard duties today. Besides, I have work to do.

It's nearly lunchtime when Mom calls. She sounds so happy to hear from me when I answer. When she starts blabbering about her first childhood boyfriend and how adorable he was, I slowly come to understand that she believes that this call is purely an update on Edward and me. Although I kind of hate to do it, blending in good news with the bad really does take the edge off of telling her about last night. So I slip in a quick, nondescriptive summary of the Port Angeles incident in between details of my first dinner date. This greatly helps to dull the blow. Her panic attack only lasts a few minutes. She even calms down once she extracts a promise from me to send her a picture of Edward. Considering that I have had two run-ins with death in less than two months time, this demand isn't too bad. Mom could be insisting that I move out of Washington state.

After that job is done, I introduce a new subject to distract her. I inquire about her past interest in genealogy, which soon gets her to start chatting about that instead of near death experiences and psychopaths. During a pause in her reminiscing, I ask if she still has any active accounts. I'm genuinely thrilled when she not only says yes, but she also has the logon information written down nearby. When she wonders why I am suddenly interested in the subject, I explain that I'm helping a friend with a family history project. At least this is close to the truth.

At the end of the phone call, I fix a plate full of sandwiches and carry them into the living room. Charlie is glued to the TV and stretched out on the couch when I hand him his lunch. I let him know that I will be upstairs reading. He acknowledges this without asking any follow-up questions - which is great since I won't need to confess that I won't be reading from a book like he assumes. I will (hopefully) be reading from my web browser about a certain enigmatic boy's family history.

In my room, I turn the computer monitor back on and type in the username and password of the website that claims to have information on Edward's grandfather. Once I am logged in, it takes me straight to the webpage on Obadiah Masen. But this can't be him. The Obadiah it shows me lived in Iowa City, California - not Iowa the state.

I try not to become discouraged. Mom said that these genealogy websites aren't indexed very well by the search engines. She said that it is best to search within their websites instead of googling. So, I navigate to the website's search bar and click on it. My fingers type in Edward Masen without hesitation. I set the search area on Chicago, press enter, and sit back to watch my computer struggle to load up the next page. A few search results pop up. The top two are censuses with information on an Edward Masen of Chicago that were taken during the years 1900 and 1910. My brows knit together. Could this be one of Edward's relatives? Maybe a great grandfather? I know his father was born in Iowa but maybe his family originates in Illinois.

Curious, I click on one of the links and wait. It takes many minutes for anything to happen. I start drumming my fingers on the desk, staring at the screen. After a long wait, I see what the problem is. It isn't loading up a webpage. It's an image of a document. Across the very top in large, bold letters, it says:

Thirteenth Census Of The United States: 1910 Population

I wait until the image is done loading before I bother examining it. Moving close to the screen, I try to make sense of what I am seeing. The census lists names of people on the left hand side of the page. Each line tells you the person's approximate age, sex, race, marital status, and a long list of other data the U.S. government thought it needed to know back then. Instead of the information being typed in, the census taker wrote it out by hand in a beautiful, curving style.

I scan the names on the document until I come across the Masen household. With my finger following along the row so I won't get lost, I begin reading.

Edward Masen, Senior. 37 years old. White male. Head of household. Married. Number of years married: 11. Birthplace: Iowa. Language: English...

My finger freezes in place. I go back to something I just read.

Birthplace: Iowa.

This man was born in Iowa. Edward's dad was born in Iowa, too. Hmm. This guy really could be related somehow.

My finger travels farther down the row and I read more.

Father's birthplace: Iowa. Mother's birthplace: Iowa. Occupation: Lawyer. General Practice.

I blink back dumbly at the carefully written words in front of me. That's weird. But just because this man had the same name, place of birth, and career as Edward's father doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything. This man lived in 1910. Edward's father passed away recently. They cannot be connected.

However, this gentle reminder does not keep me from rushing back to the list of people on the census. I want to see the name of the next person that lived in this household. Then I will see for myself that I am overreacting.

Elizabeth Masen. 32 years old. White female. Married. Number of children: 1. Birthplace: Illinois.

Edward told me last night that his mother was from Chicago originally. And he has said before that he was the only child born to Edward and Elizabeth Masen.

My finger shakes on the computer screen as it heads to the third person who lived in the Masen household in April of 1910.

Edward A. Masen, Junior. 8 years old. White male. Single. Birthplace: Illinois.

An icy chill starts at my toes and flows up my body like an arctic blast. This can't be a coincidence. Or could it? Edward wasn't an uncommon name back then. Neither was Elizabeth. But is it possible for everything else to match up too?

The index finger of my right hand moves to the last member of the household.

Martha Fairman. 51 years old. White Female. Single. Birthplace: Massachusetts. Housekeeper.

My eyes slam together. And there she is. Martha, the Masen family cook and housekeeper. This proves it to me. I am not imagining things. Edward has described a family that lived almost one hundred years ago.

As I sit here immobilized, the pieces of the puzzle of Edward Masen locks into place. He doesn't talk like any teenager I know. He prefers listening to music or reading as opposed to playing video games like 99% of the young male population. He is obsessed with opening doors for women and generally behaving like a proper gentleman from a Jane Austen novel. He owns an antique pocket watch that he feels the need to conceal from nearly everyone. He fights like an expert boxer that has been dead for decades. He has confided that his upbringing was old-fashioned and conservative.

I start giggling like a lunatic at that. Old-fashioned. Yeah. I have to agree with him. I'd say being born at the start of the twentieth century will put you a little behind the times.

Once my laughing fit ends, I slump into my chair and try to make sense of what I have found. Things are beginning to make sense - even though it sounds impossible. Is Edward really a 104 year old man? How could that be possible anyway? He looks so young. And he is way too good looking to be elderly. Is he like that F. Scott Fitzgerald story? A real life Benjamin Button who was born an old man and ages in reverse?

Or maybe it's something else. Maybe when he wasn't being a musical prodigy, he worked down in a laboratory in Chicago and built a time machine. That's definitely possible. Edward is very smart. And it would explain why I can't find anything on him on the Google search engine prior to 2004. But there is one stumbling block to this theory. Why for heaven's sakes would he decide on time traveling to the wilds of Washington? Normal people would want to do something exciting, like go see the pyramids being constructed in ancient Egypt. Coming to Forks makes absolutely no sense.

I save the 1910 census image to the hard drive and go back to the website's search page. Clicking on the 1900 census, I find Edward senior, Elizabeth, and Martha but no Edward junior. That matches up with the other census. Edward wasn't born until 1901 or '02. Well, at least it's nice to confirm that he and I still have one thing in common - we were both born in the same century.

I comb the site for more proof and discover Edward senior in 1880 living with Obadiah and Amanda Masen of Iowa.

My face falls into my hands.

Obadiah? God, I'm dumb. That name is so ancient. Edward was practically telling me his grandfather was born before the American Civil War.

I keep on searching for more evidence until there are no more documents related to them online to be found. I saw no sign of Edward or his family in the 1920 census or any of the ones that came after. There doesn't appear to be any living relatives of this branch of the Masens either. So there will be no photographs or anything helpful for me to examine.

Leaning back in my chair, I strain my brain and try to recall anything else that can help me. A few minutes in, I think of something Jessica once casually mentioned.

Carlisle Cullen is Edward's godfather.

That would mean that he knew Edward's parents!

My hands begin madly tapping on the keyboard. I do a quick Google search on Carlisle but all I can find is his name on the list of staff at the Forks General Hospital. There is no indication that he has ever been a doctor anywhere else. Well, isn't that weird? He lacks online information exactly like his 104 year old godchild.

I go back to the genealogical website and put in Carlisle's name into the search, but I find nothing at all. I'm not sure if it's because he successfully avoided the census taker through the years, or if I am just insane and paranoid and all of this has a perfectly rational explanation.

I take a breather and try to relax. There has to be something I'm not thinking about. Soon, I dig in a drawer and pull out a spiral notebook. I begin jotting down a summary of everything that I have found so far.

- Edward appears to either be the hottest senior citizen out there, or a brainiac, time traveling boy.

- If he time travelled, he had to have come here from some point in the distant past, landed here, and (for some reason) decided to stay.

- Carlisle Cullen is said to have known Edward's parents. So, if that is correct, that means he was alive way back then, too.

I'm contemplating on what to add to my list next when something else occurs to me. Somehow during the craziness of the past twenty-four hours, I haven't thought very much on what Jacob told me yesterday. But, maybe I should.

I turn the page and start scribbling down a second list of things to consider.

- Billy Black, Sam aka Bigfoot guy, and others in La Push are wary and distrustful of the Cullen family. Except for Edward, who they have tried to have removed from the Cullen house.

- The Cullens (again, except for Edward) are all abnormally pale, have cat-yellow eyes, and faces that Leonardo di Vinci would have had trouble capturing.

- According to my sources (Jessica, mainly), the Cullen family are very private and rarely interact with people outside of their group. Almost like they don't want anyone to really get to know them.

I pause in my writing. My mouth purses contemplatively for a while. Then I add:

- At least two of the Cullens (Alice and Emmett) have ice cold hands.

I stare down at my list. This has to mean something. Especially the first thing. The people of the reservation genuinely fear the Cullens. There has to be more to the story that I am not privy to. Edward has a secret, so maybe the Cullens do too.

I'm staring down at my notebook when I hear the staircase creaking, indicating that Charlie has pried himself off the couch and is coming to check on me. As fast as I can, I turn off the computer monitor, hide my notebook under my mattress, grab a random book as a stage prop, and hop on my bed to pretend that I am reading.

Charlie knocks and I tell him to come on in. The bedroom door opens and he cautiously sticks his head in, as though he is terrified I'll be doing something feminine that would embarrass the both of us. "Oh," he begins. "You still reading?"

I give a lame, weak smile. "Yeah. Just reading. This is a really interesting book." I glance at the cover and see that I am pretending to read the state of Washington's driving manual.

Gee, Bella, that isn't suspicious at all.

Attempting to hide my stupidity from him, I throw the book down on the nightstand and hope he didn't notice. I sit up in the bed and try to act natural. "So, umm...what brings you up here, Dad?"

"I was wondering if everything was going all right with you. It's getting kind of late."

My forehead crumples. Late? I haven't been up here that long. I turn my head, expecting my clock to say that it's been around two hours since I started doing research. I'm astonished when I see that it is 6:23. I was on the computer looking up Edward's little secret for the entire afternoon.

I climb out of the bed and run my fingers through the tangles of my hair. "Um. Sorry. I guess I lost track of the time. I'll go fix us something quick."

Charlie holds up his hands. "Don't worry about that, Bells. I ordered a pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad. Dinner is taken care of."

I walk to the kitchen with Charlie trailing behind me. A large box of pizza and the sides are already set out on the table. I scoop up two plates and a couple of dinner forks. Soon, he is hungrily digging into the food while I add some black pepper to my salad.

I wonder how many people know about Edward and his origins? I'm sure Carlisle knows. Heck, the entire Cullen family probably does. But what about Sam and Billy? Would they know? I doubt it. From what Edward told me yesterday, the only reason why they have any interest in him is because they do not trust the people he lives with.

"Bella?" calls out Charlie, breaking my concentration. "Don't you think you've used enough pepper?"

Bewildered at what he's talking about, I look down and cringe when I see that I zoned-out while seasoning my salad. The white dressing now looks almost completely black and gray. Yummy.

I put down the black pepper shaker and cough into my hand, avoiding looking at him. "Yeah. I guess maybe I went a little overboard," I mumble.

I take a bite of the salad. It's extra spicy but at least it isn't terrible. The two of us drift into silence as we eat, though I can see Charlie watching me closely in my peripheral vision. Good job on not alerting him that your world just tilted on its side, Bella.

Charlie is reaching for a slice of pizza when he tries to initiate small talk. I nod my head along as though I'm listening to his stories - like the one about his deputy's recent trip to somewhere warm - but I'm not really paying close attention. Thoughts of Edward keep storming back into my mind.

I think I have put the pieces of this mystery together. But instead of me being able to discern the image on the puzzle, I have found that it's one of those stupid 3D Magic Eye optical illusion things where you have to cross your eyes and squint a certain way in order to see the real picture. And have I mentioned how much I hate those things? While everyone else talks about how cool the dolphins are in the hidden picture, I could never see a damn thing. I hope that isn't a indication that I'll never solve this enigma...

"Bella?"

My face pops up to find Charlie observing me. "If there was something bothering you, you'd tell me? Right?"

My head moves haltingly up and down. "Um-hmm."

"So...does that mean you're OK?"

"Um-hmm," I mumble, biting down hard on my bottom lip. Screaming out "No! I am not 'OK', Dad! I just found out that Edward was born before you!" would not sound sane.

Charlie stares for several more beats before he reluctantly accepts my answer. He picks up a breadstick and pops a small piece into his mouth. His jaw works to chew it up as he goes back to watching me again. "You hear anything out of Edward today?"

Just hearing his name out loud causes my heart to flutter. And the reason isn't just because he is ridiculously handsome and charismatic.

I act like I need a sip of my drink before I try to answer Charlie's question. I plan out my response and attempt to sound calm and cool. "He called this morning."

Charlie grunts and nods. "I figured he would. I'm surprised he didn't stop by the house too."

"H-he's probably busy," I reply in a quivering voice. Edward probably spends his spare time oiling up his magic time machine. Or, depending on what the truth really is, he has Dr. Cullen perform plastic surgery on his 104 year old face. It's got to be hard work keeping your face looking like a seventeen year old.

"Hmm," grunts Charlie, after which a pause in our conversation crops up. I'm trying harder to actually eat instead of just playing with my food when he speaks again. "I spent some time today doing some thinking. About last night. And some other things."

I glance up at him, my interest piqued. Charlie usually isn't a deep thinker unless the subject matter involves sports drafts and what it will mean for the team.

He places his dinner fork down and his face becomes pensive. "Last night was the worst night of my life, Bells. Hearing about what happened - what could have happened - well...it got me to thinking. I...I never thought when I found that boy and dragged him out of those woods that day, that he would do anything for me in return. But he did. Twice. And I'll never be able to pay him back."

I'm sitting up straighter. Edward almost died in the forest near Olympic National Park. I forgot to add that to my list...

Charlie keeps on speaking while my brain waves are frenziedly zipping around. "I wanted to let you know how sorry I am for attacking him the way I did at the police station. I know it embarrassed you. What I did was uncalled for."

"It's fine, Dad," I mutter. "I've already moved past it. I haven't even thought about it today."

Yes. I have much more pressing things to think about. Like, does Edward have a senior citizen's discount card?

Charlie skews his mustache to his left as though he doesn't quite believe me. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that I know it was wrong." He stops to sadly shake his head. "And I did it in front of Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, too. I really made myself look like a jackass."

"I doubt they'll hold it against you," I mumble. "They're very nice...people."

Well, they're nice somethings. I'm not sure if they are people. Maybe they're aliens from some faraway planet. Beautiful, golden-eyed aliens. They could have travelled back in time, abducted Edward, and brought him here. That sounds vaguely possible until I remember that even aliens from another galaxy wouldn't want to live in a place that rains for nine months of the year. They're advanced creatures - not stupid.

With a polite grunt of agreement, Charlie moves his head up and down. "That they are. Dr. Cullen is the best doctor in Forks. All the nurses and patents at the hospital love him. And Mrs. Cullen hands out gift baskets for the folks at the nursing home. It really makes their day." An unexpected laugh echoes within the kitchen. "When I first saw Carlisle, I thought he was in his early twenties. 22. 23. Something like that. Well, can you believe that he's actually 33? You'd never guess just by looking at him. Same goes for his wife. Most beautiful lady you could set your eyes on AND she hasn't aged a bit since she moved here. I'm starting to think their house's plumbing system has tapped into the Fountain Of Youth," he ends with a slight smile.

I bolt from the table and am on my way to dump the remainder of the food on my plate into the garbage when Charlie says, "Wait, Bells. Where you going? You hardly ate anything."

As I scrape the plate, I try to conceal my flushed cheeks. What Charlie just told me belongs on my list. Carlisle and Esme haven't aged since arriving in Forks. The urge to get it down on paper overrides any hunger I may have felt.

"I'm kind of too full to eat anything else, Dad. And I...need to finish doing some research before I go back to school."

I peek up and see Charlie appearing somewhat concerned about my erratic behavior, but thankfully he doesn't call me out on it.

"Oh. OK," he replies. "You go finish your homework then. I'll be down here if you need me."

I'm jogging up the stairs right afterwards. I have the rest of tonight to study up on Edward and the Cullens. I need to know as much about them as I can. After all, if I plan on confronting Edward about this, I need to be prepared.

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A/N- Oh the interesting things you can discover with genealogy. Hog thieves in your family tree. An ancestor who maintained two separate households at the same time. Edwardian boyfriends living in pre-WWI Chicago. What fun!

Next Chapter- A surprise in the morning has Bella rethinking her priorities.

Thanks for reading! :-)