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.

23. Show And Tell

Chapter 23- Show And Tell

March 12, 2005

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When Saturday arrives, I wake up not long after 6:30 in the morning and run around trying to dress myself before Edward gets here. He and I are driving to Seattle today - something that I have looked forward to all week. Getting out of Forks for a few hours and being in a large, bustling city again makes up for having to drag myself out of bed so early.

Considering what happened in Port Angeles, I thought Charlie would try to put his foot down and forbid me to go. But I was wrong. On Monday night during dinner, I reminded him of my upcoming trip and held my breath as I waited for his reaction. All he did was question me about where I would go in the city, what time I would be back, and if I was going alone. Based on his twitching mustache, I had the feeling that the last question was the most important. I admitted that Edward was my ride and that we would be back around dark. He nodded his head and said that we should have a easy drive since the forecast predicted clear skies for that particular day.

Because he took it so well, I had assumed that Charlie trusted me and was satisfied by my assurance that I would stay safe. Then, yesterday, I noticed that there was a new phone number programed into our landline. Charlie had written the letters "EM" in blue ink on the phone's little card. I was immediately suspicious. I pressed the corresponding digit, listened to the phone connect to the call, and then heard Edward's cellphone ring while he sat at the kitchen table. He confessed that Charlie had requested his phone number and gave him instructions to call if anything happened to us while in Seattle. That's when it hit me that Charlie views Edward as both my boyfriend and babysitter now. I was very close to reminding my father through an irate rant that I shouldn't be treated like child. But my better judgement told me to keep my mouth shut. The trip is more important than my pride.

Along with Edward's new title of boyfriend, he continues to be my study partner. You might think it unwise to have someone so distracting be around while you are trying to concentrate on homework, but I have found that it is actually extremely helpful. As soon as school lets out for the day, we rush to my house and go straight to work. We each bury our noses into whatever subject we must study for that day and focus on completing it without making any careless mistakes. We cannot afford making any of those. Mistakes cost valuable time. The quicker we are done with our schoolwork, the sooner Edward can pull me onto his lap and work on me. I have found that having his lips somewhere on my skin is a perfect reward after studying so hard.

To keep Charlie happy and Edward bullet-free, we have implemented a couple of rules now that our relationship has changed. The first rule is that once my dad steps foot into the house, Edward and I cannot be connected in any way other than hand holding. Although I'm sure Charlie knows that Edward and I are doing more than that when he isn't around, I still don't believe rubbing it in his face is a good idea. Edward agrees with me. As soon as he detects the front door knob being turned, Edward removes his lips from my neck (or wherever he was devoting attention to) and retreats to a safe distance away. I don't understand how he can even hear it. Either his sense of hearing is greatly superior to mine, or I become so lost in what he does to me that I block out everything else in the world. It's probably the latter, though.

The second rule we follow is that at least one of us must stay downstairs at all times. If we were to study in my bedroom, it would likely put things inside of Charlie's brain that I would rather him not think about. Like the fact that I am a girl, Edward is a boy, and that there is a bed in my room that could conceivably hold two people. Of course, Edward hasn't tried going that far with me yet. After all, it's only been five days since we figured out this kissing thing. Other than his apparent obsession with lavishing my neck and hands with affection, I would say that our after school activities have been pretty tame. But we still don't want to give Charlie any ideas to the contrary. So, we stay downstairs.

As for school, it's much better now than it was a few days ago. No one brought up the Port Angeles incident after Monday's lunchroom fiasco - thank goodness. Conversations are mostly back to the boring and predictable - except for one notable exception. The student population of Forks High now devotes most their interest and gossip to a brand new couple.

When Edward and I drove to school Tuesday, no one rubbernecked as we walked across the student parking area. No one tried to listen in to our private conversations or gawked when he and I strolled from class to class. We were rightfully perplexed by this swift change of their interest.

Later that day, I entered third period Trigonometry and found Jessica absorbedly doodling in her pink notebook. When I took a seat, her eyes strayed away from the paper and beamed up at me.

"You'll-never-guess-what-happened-to-me!" she bursted in a nanosecond, her body bouncing in her seat as though she were on a trampoline.

Before I could say a word, she went on talking. "It's finally happening! Can you believe it? I bet it's all over the school, huh? It's - like - a dream come true, you know? I thought he was never going to make his move. God, I was so wrong! He just needed the extra time to see how much I mean to him. And just think! It's right in time for the spring dance! That night's gonna be a billion times more magical. Do you think it's too early for me to pick out a matching dress and tux for prom? What do you think?"

"What?" I blinked confusedly.

Jessica rolled her eyes around their sockets and giggled. "Oh. I guess you haven't heard then. Really, Bella. You and Edward have been so wrapped up in one another. You haven't paid attention to any of the latest news - have you?"

I couldn't deny it. It was the truth. However, even before my relationship status changed with Edward, I rarely paid attention to the "news" around this place. So, I half shrugged and nodded in agreement that I had received no gossip that morning which would explain her excitement.

"I thought so," she snorted. Jessica dropped her pencil upon her notebook and moved closer. "OK... So, this is - like - huge news. Are you ready for it?" She inserted a dramatic pause and took a deep breath. "Mike and I are... together!"

I was so baffled that my eyebrows practically glued themselves into a single line. Just the day before, Mike had thrown a fit at having seen Edward and me together. And the very next day he has a girlfriend?

"What?" I said for the second time in less than a minute.

Jessica's mouth raised into a haughty smirk. "You heard me. We're together now." As if she were showing me proof, she held up her notebook for me to inspect. The page featured her name, the word "Love", plus Mike's name written in bold, bubble letters. The rest of the paper was covered with hundreds of miniature hearts of varying sizes.

Jessica went on to tell me that Mike had been waiting after school the day before and wondered if she would be willing to help him with his English assignment. She told him that she couldn't because she and Angela were driving to Port Angeles to buy their dresses for the upcoming spring dance. It was somewhere after this was explained to me that I began questioning the accuracy of her story. She claimed that he then begged her to reschedule the trip because he needed her so "desperately". After giving in to his pleas, Jessica explained that heartfelt declarations of love were sworn while they came up with a decent subject for Mike to write a report on.

I figured that it was just her fantasies talking again. It wasn't uncommon for her to take an innocent remark or incident and twist it around in order for it to fit into her delusions. So I was understandably blown away when I discovered that Jessica had been telling the absolute truth.

We were walking out of our Spanish class when I spotted two people standing outside of the door. One was Edward, leaning up against the wall and waiting for me. The other was Mike who stood several feet away.

"Hey there!" he smiled at Jessica.

She sucked in a gulp of air and stared back with beaming eyes. "Ohmygosh! I was literally just telling Bella how I couldn't wait to see you!"

"Me too. I want to show you off," he professed.

"Aww!" she swooned, her hand covering her heart.

Mike then wrapped an arm across the back of her neck and guided her towards the cafeteria, never saying a word to me or anyone else. It was no big surprise. He never speaks to Edward unless he has to, and he hadn't acknowledged me since our argument from the day before.

Once the two of them began to walk off, Edward abandoned the brick wall which he had been propped against and moved by my side. I promptly took his hand and looked up into his eyes.

"Well, that's a surprise. I thought she was exaggerating when she said they were together now," I shared perplexedly.

Edward barked a short laugh without smiling. "It is - but then again, it isn't."

"What do you mean?"

He rocked his head back and forth and glanced down at the sidewalk for a few, brief seconds. At a leisurely pace, his face resumed its normal position and made eye contact with me again. A slow smile slanted up the ends of his mouth. "I do believe he is attempting to make a certain someone jealous," he added in a wink.

My gaze unfocused as I attempted to make sense of what he was saying. On the morning before, Mike had a hissy fit because he realized that he and I were not going to be anything other than friends. The next day, he heaps attention on Jessica. And Edward believes that Mike is trying to make someone jealous...

"No," I gasped.

"Yes," Edward countered breezily.

My face hardened into a scowl. How could Mike do something like that? I knew that he was angry, but using Jessica as a way to get back at me? As though I would suddenly see that I care for him, dump Edward, and beg for him to come back?

"But that's ridiculous!" I hissed.

Edward's mouth twisted to the side and his brow cocked up. "And that's Mike for you."

Although I wanted to let Jessica know what was going on, Edward pointed out that she probably would not believe me. And sadly, I knew that he was right. Jessica would assume that I was trying to swing the school's attention off of them and back on Edward and me or something similarly ludicrous. So, I kept quiet. Edward insists that she will soon see for herself that Mike has ulterior motives. For her sake, I hope he is correct.

But all thoughts of school and unpleasant incidents in Port Angeles are banished today. Edward and I are leaving them behind us in Forks. Seattle deserves our full attention.

I'm upstairs stuffing my rarely used purse with a few essentials when I hear a car pull into the driveway. A split second later, I'm holding on to the handrail as I rush down the stairs to open the front door. When I swing it open, Edward is just now setting foot upon the porch. The adorable grin on his face has me flinging myself into his waiting arms.

Once we pry ourselves apart, we get into his car and hit the road. The sun is out again today, giving the passing landscape a renewed beauty. The customary dullness of the Olympic forest has been brushed with dozens of shades of green and brown. Crystal clear streams reflect the sunlight, making the day appear even brighter. Charlie is currently stationed at one of them, armed with a fishing pole and his walkie talkie hanging from his hip. I have a feeling that he would be taking his boat out today if it weren't for my trip to Seattle. Instead, he's staying on the mainland where the police radio signal is stronger. I'm sure he has instructed someone down at the police station to radio him if I were to call.

Traffic thins out as we distance ourselves from Forks. And, little by little, I observe the speedometer tick upwards. Every so often, Edward comes upon a slow vehicle and he passes around it with the same enthusiasm as a chess player hopping his Knight over his opponent's piece. After the speedometer hits 77 miles per hour, I can no longer keep my mouth shut.

"May I ask you a personal question?" I deadpan.

Edward's head moves up and down, silently agreeing.

I try to maintain a straight face. "Is it against your religious beliefs to obey the speed limit signs?"

His mouth twitches, suppressing a smile. "No. But I do disagree with them on moral grounds. No one should be expected to drive only 55 miles per hour on a perfectly straight highway. It's outrageous."

"Hmm. Is that the excuse you plan on giving the traffic court judge one day?"

His lips lifts into that crooked grin that never fails to make my breath catch. "I doubt it. If I ever do get stopped for speeding, Alice would probably come and talk the police officer into letting me off with just a warning," he jokes.

No longer able to contain it, a laugh pours from my throat. In the last few days, Edward has been more forthcoming with details about his home life. According to him, Alice is an overly energetic, mischief-maker that has a talent for flattering unsuspecting individuals until she can extract herself out of trouble. Jasper is a laid back guy who is obsessed with history and isn't above watching war documentaries for hours at a time. Rosalie never holds back her opinion and can be viewed as standoffish sometimes, but she won't hesitate to defend her family if someone threatens them. Emmett loves wrestling and cracking jokes that make you uncomfortable. Although Carlisle is a top notch doctor that works tirelessly for his patients, he takes time every night to be Edward's mentor and most trusted friend. And on top of Esme's many special abilities, she also is an impressive artist who enjoys painting landscapes.

Edward's siblings showed back up to school on Wednesday and actually acknowledged my presence whenever they saw me. For example, Edward and I passed by one of his brothers during our trip to second period. Jasper gave a small smile, looked me in the eye, and said, "Hi, Bella." Around twenty nearby students gaped at me as though I were a wizard who had just forced Jasper to speak by utilizing a magical incantation. Later, a boy with frosted highlights in his hair asked how I was able to get Jasper to speak. My answer of "I don't know. By being polite?" appeared to have made the boy more bewildered than ever.

Even though I haven't pressed Edward on anything (like the fact that is name is on a document from almost a hundred years ago, or that his adopted family members are far too perfect to be normal human beings), I can't lie and say that I don't wonder what the truth could be. I often run scenarios through my head while I lounge in bed at night, yet none ever sound right. It's hard to get a decent night's sleep when there are mysteries afoot.

It's midmorning when Edward and I approach the Seattle city limits. Gigantic billboards advertise everything from auto accident lawyers to donut shop coffee. Fast food joints and strip malls are littered everywhere you look. Hundreds of cars battle for a better position on the interstate, their frustrated drivers honking their horns and cursing whenever someone cuts them off.

God, I've missed this. Living in a town whose population isn't much larger than the customers currently shopping at that Super Walmart we just passed by makes you more appreciative of what bigger cities have to offer.

Edward takes the exit ramp leading into the heart of the city. It isn't long before we're stuck behind a line of cars. He pivots his head enough to watch me while also keeping an eye out on the red traffic light ahead of us.

"Where to first, milady?" he questions like a Shakespearean coachman in charge of a horse-drawn carriage.

A smile grows on my face. "A bookstore."

His brow crumples slightly and his head rocks back and forth. "I'm still in the dark why you feel the need to buy books when you have the entire Cullen library at your disposal."

I have to stifle the urge to roll my eyes. Edward doesn't quite understand that I can't go plundering around their library whenever the mood to read strikes. I need to be at least somewhat self-sufficient.

"For one thing, I want some cookbooks. And your Cullen library is limited in that area. I only saw a few. All of them measured out ingredients the old-fashioned way - by pinches, handfuls, and teacups. I'm not confident enough in my cooking to risk using a cookbook like that."

"And your other reason would be?" he coaxes.

My smile morphs into a smirk. "Maybe I want to start a library of my own. The Swan Library has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It does indeed," he grins.

We pass right on by a couple of shops who only have a small amount of books in stock, appearing to be more interested in selling coffee or knickknacks than literature. Eventually, we come upon a huge second-hand bookstore. The moment we set foot inside of the building, I am patting myself on the back for having the foresight of bringing all of my cash.

Books are absolutely everywhere. Thousands on the shelves. Stacks upon stacks resting on all available surfaces. The person manning the cash register has to physically move the pile of paperbacks she was sorting through in order to see us.

"Good morning," the middle-aged woman greets. "Can I help you with anything?"

My head shakes in the negative. "No thanks. We're just here to browse."

She smiles warmly. "All right," she replies. Then, ducking under the counter, she pops back up and holds out a sheet of paper for me to take. "Here's our promotion. Everything's at least half off today."

A sale? On books? If I didn't have Edward watching me, I would fall down to my knees and cry tears of joy.

I snatch the flyer with one hand while pulling Edward with the other. It doesn't take long for me to see that the bookstore is two floors of heaven on earth. The bottom floor is comprised of nonfiction, to which I quickly locate the section which houses their cookbooks. A few minutes of perusal, I find two that interest me. One of the books even has a whole section focused on how to prepare fish in new and creative ways - which I need desperately considering that Charlie seems determined to keep bringing them home.

With that out of the way, I'm off to concentrate on what I am really here for - the fiction section. I keep coming upon titles I had never heard of before but become instantly intrigued with. Sometimes I pull out a book that I have read before but can't bear to leave it behind. A few minutes into our exploration of the place, I conclude that I can't hold my intended purchases and shop at the same time, so Edward volunteers to be a human book shelf. Every time I find a hardcover or paperback that I fall in love with, I drop it into his arms. It isn't long before the stack of books is almost to his chin. Lucky for me, he's a good sport about it all and doesn't complain.

As I examine the shelves, he and I talk mostly about books. When I pick up To Kill A Mockingbird, I mention that the movie adaptation is one of the very few that is almost as good as the book it was based on. Edward never heard of it before. The same goes for The Sun Also Rises, The Great Gatsby, Animal Farm, and Of Mice And Men. Yet, he does know Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations, The Jungle, and every single Mark Twain story I come across very well.

I find it interesting that he seems to be well acquainted with the books written in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but has barely read many of the ones written from the 1920s and on.

But I choose to keep my mouth shut for now.

After roughly an hour of shopping, I decide that I have enough reading material to last me a while. I count the books in Edward's arms and calculate the cost. There's fifteen. But since the store has that sale going on, I'll only be paying around $30 plus tax. If it weren't for the fact that I don't have anymore shelf space at home, I would probably buy a few extra.

"Are you going to get anything?" I question Edward.

He shifts the stack of books in his arms into a more comfortable position. "No thank you. If I'm ever in need of a good book to read I'll just borrow one from the Swan Library," he smirks.

"Really?" I say in a laugh. My eyebrow cocks up challengingly. I glance at my pile of books that he holds and pick one at random. "You would willingly read Anna Karenina?"

His nose crinkles up, like a young boy being served asparagus for his dinner. "Well, if that's all that you would let me borrow, then maybe I should retract my earlier statement."

"You've made me curious now. What kind of books do you like? You've never told me."

"Oh," he drawls out slowly. "I like a variety - it really depends on how well written they are. I've enjoyed biographies, mysteries, adventures. I've even liked your Jane Austen at times. And, of course, science fiction as long as it is not too far fetched."

An idea sparks inside of me.

"Hmm," I hum musingly. With mounting curiosity, I lead us to the Science Fiction section of the store and scan the shelves. Many of the authors and book names are unknown to me. I am not a big reader of this genre, although I do know a few of the more famous ones. My finger drags across the spines as I study each title. When I find an author I recognize, I glance up at Edward. "Do you like Jules Verne?" I wonder.

"Yes, but I've read all of his books years ago."

I hold my tongue and continue browsing the shelves. It doesn't take long for me to find another author that I have some knowledge of. "How about Conan Doyle?"

His broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "He's fine, I suppose, but isn't he mostly known for his Sherlock Holmes novels?"

My teeth pull my bottom lip into my mouth. Edward seems at least somewhat knowledgeable on these old school, classic sci-fi authors and stories. He certainly knows more than I do about them. But, when I stop in front of the next book, I have a feeling that our roles will reverse.

My index finger lands on Jurassic Park and I peek up at him. "How about Michael Crichton?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"I've never read any of his books," he answers, shaking his head.

I stare at him silently for a short span of time. Now, I am no expert in the sci-fi genre or anything, but I am familiar with Michael Crichton. He is arguably one of the most famous authors in modern times. Hell, even I have read a couple of his books before. Yet Edward has never read one book by the man? I guess it could be that he just has never had the desire to read one of Crichton's novels before, but something tells me that isn't the case.

My lips lift into a slight smile. Except for the few novels that are on our school's required reading list for the junior class, Edward is seriously lacking in familiarity with authors and books which were written within the last one hundred or so years. However, he knows the older ones just fine. This leads me to believe that he hasn't been roaming the earth for all of those intervening decades. I am currently leaning more towards the he-is-a-teen-who-came-here-in-a-time-machine theory. If we had more time today, I could keep asking Edward questions about books and probably figure out on my own what time he leaped here from.

I yank down two of Crichton's books, Jurassic Park and Sphere, and gently place them into his arms. "Then I think I'll take two of his then," I decide. I'm curious to see if he will read a more modern novel if he has easy access to it.

I pay for my books and Edward carefully arranges them in the trunk of his Volvo so they won't scatter all over the place during our drive. He asks where I want to go next but I tell him that it's his turn to choose. Fifteen minutes later, we're parking at the curb near an independent music store. Edward leans across the center console, pops open the glovebox in front of me, and pulls out a slip of paper. In the brief flash of time that it crosses my line of sight, I see a long list written in his handwriting and spot a couple of musicians' names that I recognize.

He takes me by the hand and we dodge a few people passing by us on the sidewalk. Edward pushes open the door to the store and waits for me to enter first. Once inside, I halt in place and scan our surroundings. The place is unique and more down to earth than a big name music shop. Mementos from the past are everywhere, used as decorations and conversation pieces. Concert posters from the sixties and seventies mingle with ones from recent years. A rhinestone cape similar to Elvis Presley's famous one hangs on display. Old vinyl records line the walls like works of art. And all over the place - in every nook and cranny - lies the plastic cases of CDs to purchase. On shelves. On racks. And stacked in huge bins all over the floor.

But the eclectic decorations nor the wide variety of music the store offers isn't what surprises me. It's the employee this place has hired.

The most goth looking guy I have ever seen stands behind the counter. Pale skin that is accentuated with white makeup. Nose ring. Eyebrow piercing. Dark charcoal shirt and pants. Hair standing up into a tall mohawk - the strands as black as the night, except for the tips, which are a bright, blood red. His most unusual characteristic is his mouth. He wears metal fangs that makes him look like a juvenile vampire who needs to be in braces until his teeth straighten out.

But, most shocking of all, this guy is grinning at the boy walking through the door like it's his long lost friend.

"Edward!" yelps goth guy. "Long time, no see."

And Edward - the subdued, admittedly straight-laced boy that I have gotten to know - stares back just as cheerfully.

"Yes, it has been a while, hasn't it?" he replies. He pauses and looks at me for several beats before addressing goth guy again. "I've been rather busy lately, John. I couldn't get down until today."

John the goth guy glances at me. Then at Edward. The stud in his eyebrow cocks up into smirk. "Well, don't sweat it. I kept something behind the counter that I had a feeling you would be interested in," he announces.

Pulling out a set of keys, John unlocks a drawer and hands over a CD. Edward reads the album cover and crookedly smiles. "Your instinct, as always, is right on target. Anything else new of any interest?"

"Hold on and I'll show you," answers John, producing a sheet of paper from behind the counter. It turns out that the paper is a catalog of everything that has entered the store within the past month. He and Edward lean over it like teammates mapping out a football play to ensure their victory. Whenever Edward sees something that piques his interest, he jots it down on the paper he dug out from his glovebox and his list grows longer.

With his paper filled, he steps away from the counter while John disappears into the back of the store. I tag along behind Edward as he drifts purposely up and down the aisles. Every so often, he checks the slip of paper in his fingers and adds a CD to the growing stack in his arms. Around four minutes into his shopping spree, his arms are so full that the discs are threatening to tumble down like a tower of Jenga blocks.

Two minutes later, John re-emerges from the back with a medium sized cardboard box. He passes it to Edward, who happily takes the box and dumps his heavy burden inside of it. At first, I assume that this means that he is done shopping. But I am wrong. He is just getting started, apparently.

Placing the box on the floor, Edward uses both of his two hands to browse through the racks. As he travels from bin to bin and shelf to shelf, he transports his cardboard box by shuffling it along with his feet. Almost as if he believes that he is on an episode of Supermarket Sweep, the pile of CDs to be bought rapidly grows. Sometimes he consults his list and tracks down what he wants. Other times, he comes across an album by chance and it gets thrown into his box, too.

Considering his limited experience with books which have been published within the last few decades, I am somewhat astonished by his music choices. It's all over the place. I watch him drop all kinds of CDs into his box. In goes an old Prince album from the mid 1980s. A few seconds later, he adds a newly released Lifehouse disc. Next is Louis Armstrong, Bing Crosby, Stevie Wonder, and the greatest hits of some guy named Maurice Chevalier who wore an old straw fedora hat and snazzy suit on his black and white album cover. When he tosses the ultra heavy metal band Megadeth into his box, I stare open-mouthed. Is this really the same boy who plays Beethoven on the piano?

We've been inside of the store for around fifteen minutes when I begin counting the discs he intends to purchase. I conclude that there are around forty-seven, but there may be a few more hiding in that box that I don't see. Although each CD is priced differently, most appear to hover around the twenty dollar mark. In my head, I run a quick calculation. If each album costs about twenty bucks and there are roughly forty-seven to buy, that means...

I suck in a breath and my jaw drops further. $940? Edward is planning to shuck out almost a thousand dollars?! What kind of an allowance do the Cullens give him every month?

"What's wrong?" his honeyed voice questions.

I hold my head aloft and find him watching me instead of concentrating on his list.

My face screws up, not knowing how to voice my observations without insulting his wealthy lifestyle or exposing my wild theories on his origins. But my eyes keep drifting back down to the box, taunting me to ask him at least one question.

"It's nothing really. I'm just... Are you really going to buy all of that?" I press him, knitting my brows into one continuous line.

"Yes," he replies with a dip of his head.

I take another peek at what he plans to get today. On the very top lies a baby-faced Barry Manilow from the late 1970s. Next to that is Snoop Dogg, the rapper. Is he really going to play the disco-era Copacabana song and then pop in Snoop's Drop It Like It's Hot?

"And you are going to listen to all of them?" I inquire, monitoring his face.

"Yes. At least once. And if they are any good, multiple times."

Initially, this puzzles me more. If he had explained that he was simply buying music for his entire family, I could understand that. But, no, this is all for himself. His devotion to music is much stronger than I could have ever guessed. It will take days - maybe even weeks - to get through all those albums. He intends to listen to every single song in that box - even the terrible ones that make your ears bleed. Who does that?

The CDs are a blend of genres, encompassing several decades worth of time. A quarter of them are old albums whose artists I have never heard of before. Another quarter of the discs are from new bands and solo singers that I had no idea even existed. If I am unfamiliar with these music groups and have lived my entire life in this era, I doubt Edward would know them any better.

Out of nowhere, something inside of my brain clicks into place.

Who would buy such a wide variety of albums? The guy who is obsessed with music and missed out on one hundred years worth of it.

He's trying to catch back up.

Edward reminds me of what a researcher would do if he were to discover a new civilization. The researcher would immerse himself into their culture, studying their strange ways and unique music.

My slight smile swells into a huge grin. Solving a sliver of a mystery gives me plenty of satisfaction.

"What now?" asks Edward, looking at me sideways.

Still broadly grinning, I give him an honest answer. "Nothing. You never stop surprising me."

His dark copper brow lifts into a point. "And do I want to know what you mean by that exactly?"

My arms swing behind my back and I take a step closer. My teeth gnaw at my lips, attempting to lessen my smile but a muffled laugh still escapes. "Stop worrying," I tell him as I gaze into his eyes. "Maybe I like that aspect about you."

He gives an incredulous face but gets back to his shopping regardless, not pressing me any further. A few minutes later, he's toting the cardboard box to the cash register and whips out a credit card. John the goth guy's black-outlined eyes shine like a child's on Christmas morning as he swipes the card and hands Edward the long receipt. Now I see why John appears to love him so much. Edward's music addiction probably comprises half of his salary.

It's practically lunchtime when we step back outside. We drive around in search of a decent place to eat, eventually coming upon a cute little restaurant which boasts seats inside and outside. Since the weather is flawless today, we choose to stay outside. We seat ourselves at a table nearby a display of flowers, their scent and cheerful colors making it feel like it is officially spring.

We order and I hungrily attack my Caesar salad. I'm halfway through it when I catch a glimpse of Edward's plate. His sandwich lays largely untouched, only a couple of bites are missing. I look up from his food and am slightly surprised to find him staring in my direction.

"Why aren't you eating?" I say once I swallow down a chunk of crouton.

His mouth perks up into a small, teasing smirk. "I'm trying. But it's your fault really. How can you possibly expect me to eat when you're sitting there looking so lovely today? You are far too distracting."

I don't buy it. I'm wearing an ordinary blouse that he has seen several times before and the sun's glare is forcing me to squint a little in order to see properly. I probably look like Popeye the sailor man.

My forehead raises in mock surprise to go along with his claim. "Oh? Am I? Since I'm distracting you, maybe I should go sit somewhere else so you can eat. Maybe that guy over there wouldn't mind if I sat at his table for a little while." My head tips in the direction of a man sitting a few tables away. The guy is messily scarfing down a plate of nachos, the cheese caking a little around his mouth.

Edward takes one look at the stranger and his face darkens into a scowl. He sweeps up my hand and caresses it, as though he truly believes that I would ditch him and this is his attempt to change my mind.

My mouth stretches into a toothy grin. I really shouldn't mess with him like this, but his reaction is just too funny.

When he tears his glare away from the guy, his eyes stray back to me. As he takes in my smiling expression, his scowl morphs into a pronounced pout. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Miss Swan," he breathes out tiredly.

A few giggles bubble up from my throat. I guess he has rightfully concluded that I was only joking. It's nice turning the tables on him like this. He's usually the one teasing me.

While I'm trying to suppress my laughter, something changes in him. His formerly sulking mouth parts open somewhat as his gaze becomes sharp and penetrating. And, as though he pressed a button hidden within me, my smile vanishes into thin air and my breathing accelerates. As he raises my hand to his mouth, downtown Seattle fades into oblivion. All I can see are the magnetic eyes that have silenced me. And all I can feel are his lips while they brush across my skin.

How does he make a seemingly innocent kiss on a hand seem like so much more?

His attention momentarily flicks to the side, catching sight of the wide variety of flowering plants that divide the eating area from the sidewalk. A few beats afterwards, his eyes return. But the heat shooting out from them is gone.

"Bella," he whispers into my skin. At a slow pace, he lowers my hand back down to the table. "There is something I very much want to tell you. It's something that I have kept secret from everyone except for my family. But, I think you should know, too. I have been unsure of how I should tell you, but I think I now know what I need to do."

He abruptly stops speaking. In turn, my chest clenches. A secret. A secret he wants to share with me. Either he will confess what I have suspected all week, or his secret is something else entirely - like he is a guitarist for a shock rock cover band and dresses up in full Kiss costume and makeup every weekend. That's possible. After all, he does have a few of their CDs in his car.

The tip of Edward's tongue swipes across his lip and he shifts in his chair, bringing me out of my reverie. "Do you trust me?" he asks, still holding on to my hand.

"Yes," I nod somberly.

A tiny smile creeps back onto his face. "You don't know how wonderful it is to hear you say that," he utters. He inhales and slowly releases his breath, causing his cheeks to puff out a little. His gaze locks firmly back on me. "There's a very special place that I know of. No one else knows about it. I want to take you there tomorrow if it's all right with you."

I slightly lean my body over the table that separates us and stare deeply into his eyes. "That sounds nice," I reply.

Some of the strain in his eyes slackens and we try to resume our earlier playfulness as we finish our meal.

The remainder of our day is mainly spent exploring the area and sightseeing. Edward asks if I want to shop anymore and I answer with a firm "no". It would be smart of me to go ahead and buy a couple of lighter sweaters and blouses for the warmer weather, but what would he do while I try them on? Wait outside of the dressing room and be bored to death? Nope. I can't do that to him. Mom did that so often to me during my childhood that I know exactly how painful of an experience that can be.

During the drive home, I question him on where he plans to take us the next day. All he does is smile and shake his head, informing me that I'll have to wait and see. Though, when he drops me off at my house at dusk, he gives me a hint of sorts when he recommends dressing comfortably and wearing sensible shoes - leading me to believe that wherever we are going will be outside.

Since Charlie's police cruiser sits in the driveway, we keep our goodbye kiss PG rated. When he backs away, he asks if it is OK if he's here early again to pick me up. I narrow my eyes and pinch my mouth into a fine line. I thought this boy knew me better than to have to ask such an obvious question. I would wake up at four o'clock in the morning if it meant I could see him that much sooner.

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The next day, I wake up a little earlier than I had the day before so I won't need to rush. Charlie lightly taps my bedroom door and reminds me that he's going fishing - just like yesterday. I inform him that my day will be spent with Edward again. He doesn't look surprised, just like I am not shocked that he can willingly stare at a cork in the water for an entire Sunday with just the hope of catching something.

I dress myself in jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and waterproof boots. And after peeking out of a window, I yank my rain jacket off the coat rack, too. Unfortunately, today isn't as pretty as it was yesterday. The sun has disappeared behind a curtain of dreary clouds. But my outlook on this dismal day brightens considerably once a shiny silver car pulls up to the curb.

My eyes do a thorough examination of Edward as I slip into the Volvo. He chose to put on a plain white t-shirt under a gray hoodie. Plus, jeans that fit him just right that I could spend all day admiring.

Thank you, Levi Strauss. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your generous contribution to humankind.

I try to stop ogling at him and focus on the question that plagued me all night long. "So... Are you going to tell me where we're going now, or is it still too hush hush?"

He breaks into a smile as he puts the car into drive. "I'll tell you now. There's a spot out near the national park that I go to sometimes. It's quiet and secluded. I want you to see it."

"The national park?" I echo. My forehead creases downwards. Then my eyes flap open wide. "Does that mean we'll need to hike through the woods?" I croak out.

Of all the places I speculated that he would want to take me, a excursion into the forest never entered my mind. I assumed he was driving us to some quaint picnic area with tables and a babbling brook nearby. If I had known that we were heading into the wilderness, I would have spent more time preparing myself. Like, strapping pillows to my kneecaps. And probably my butt too. Falling is much worse when it occurs outdoors. Your chances of landing on something which could hurt you greatly increases. I wonder if the Olympic peninsula has porcupines...

Edward speaks and draws me back to reality. "Please don't worry. I would never let anything bad happen to you," he promises. He focuses back on driving, but I notice that his fingers are bearing down hard around the steering wheel.

A quarter of a mile passes before he has anything to add. "Despite what others in Forks may say, I know my way around the wilderness more than I let on. I will not get us lost." He pauses, and his face turns away from the road to look me square in the eye. "I swear to you," he ends solemnly.

I blink back at him several times, bewildered why he would say such a thing. I didn't say anything about us getting lost. All I said was-

Then it hits me.

He thinks that I am afraid of going into the forest with him since he almost died out there. But nothing could be further from the truth.

My head starts shaking before I even speak. "You don't understand. I'm not afraid of getting lost or anything, Edward," I confess. My shoulders go limp at what I have to admit out loud. "I'm worried about falling every five seconds," I mutter, temporarily flicking my eyes away from his.

The tension in his face relaxes. "You should know that I would never let you fall," he replies, dragging his hand through his hair. "I'll hold on to you."

My eyes roll as I bark out one unamused laugh. "Then be prepared to do it for the entire hike. You know my track record when it comes to walking in the great outdoors."

"Hold you for the entire time? And you say it as if that were a bad thing," he retorts playfully.

Thirty or so minutes later, he pulls off the road and into a dirt parking lot. A sign proclaiming that this is the beginning of a trail stands nearby, but otherwise we are in the middle of nowhere. Edward's car is the only one here.

He throws open the trunk of the Volvo and out comes a black backpack with pockets, straps, and hooks dangling all over it. I watch as he carefully folds both of our rain jackets into a sushi roll and then straps them to the backpack. Following a check to make certain that he locked up the car, he heaves the backpack over his shoulders and adjusts the straps to fit his frame.

With everything ready, we looks over at me and motions with his head to follow him. And that's what I do - until I become aware that he is heading into the forest on the opposite side of where the path begins.

I freeze in my tracks. What is he doing? Why aren't we walking towards the trail head? I had assumed that I would at least have a decently maintained hiking path to work with.

My eyes dart to the wooded area and take a wary survey. The massive trees with their thick canopies filter out much of the daylight before it even has a chance to hit the ground. And speaking of the ground, it is covered in debris. Crunchy, damp leaves to slide around on. Huge, gnarled roots to trip over. Fallen twigs, branches, and long limbs that have yet to decay. It looks like someone set up an obstacle course in there.

Several feet up ahead, I vaguely notice Edward stop and swivel around. He studies my face for a short moment. "The place I want to show you is off the trail. We need to go this way," he explains, pointing into the forest gloom.

My head nods in acceptance but my insides are recoiling. I haven't even stepped off the dirt parking area yet and I am already shuddering at what calamities may await me in that jungle of horrors.

The instant my boots touch the forest floor, I sense that this hike will be rough. My foot skids across the dank leaf litter - just as I had anticipated would happen. But before my behind can make contact with the ground, Edward's arm appears and enwraps my waist. Once I am stable again, we continue walking but his arm stays around my middle.

We travel a while in companionable silence. I direct most of my thoughts on staying upright since I do not want to make this any harder on him than this is already. But once we have walked for at least half of an hour, I start to become antsy.

"Um... Are we getting close to the place you wanted to show me?" I ask.

"No. Not yet."

"Oh," I utter in disappointment. I peek up at his face. "So...how much longer do you think it will be?"

He thinks it over, slightly twisting his mouth. "Since we're walking a little slower than what I usually travel, it makes it difficult to say. Although, if I had to guess, I would think it will be another two hours."

"Two hours?" I repeat, my lungs entering into low hyperventilation mode.

"It may be a little less," he answers in a soothing tone. "From the parking area to where we're going is close to a five mile walk. We've gone at least a mile so far."

My next few footsteps are weak and wobbly - even more than normal. Four more miles of hiking in an unmarked, wooded area? Is Edward testing my endurance levels or something?

I would love to say that the next two hours flew by, but that would be a lie. An accident-prone person like me shouldn't be in a place like this. It's riddled with danger. So, when he points to an area just ahead of us and announces "there it is", I am so relieved that I could almost cry.

The closer we approach, the more my eyes take in. It dawns on me that the trees in that section are not as dark and foreboding as the forest we spent the last two and a half hours hiking through. It's airier. Brighter.

I pull away from Edward's grasp and fight my way through a jumble of hanging vines and bushy shrubs. After shoving a branch from my face, I take another step and enter the area that he had indicated. Even though the sun is not out, the daylight is almost blinding after being subjected to the dim forest for such a long time. My eyes immediately clamp together until they can readjust. Little by little, I pry them apart and look around me. Then I audibly gasp.

I am in a clearing in the middle of the woods. A meadow. The grass here is a thick, lush green. Small birds peck the ground and fly overhead, filling the air with their chirping songs. A rainbow of wildflowers of scarlet, orange, violet, and nearly every other shade that you can conjure up are scattered all around. I bend over and pick one at random. It's a deep blue, with delicate petals and long, pollen-filled stamens. I raise the flower to my nose and inhale it's scent. It's faintly sweet - not overpowering at all.

The flower lowers by my side and I go back to appreciating the scenery. This place is more than just beautiful. So much so, that it has to be an illusion. It's too perfect - like it was purposely placed here by a film company or TV commercial crew. I half expect to see a woman frolicking around the meadow while a voiceover explains how much fresher she feels now that she uses the company's feminine hygiene product.

A laugh ripples out from my mouth at that thought.

And to think, this is where Edward brought me - a place too good to be real, yet exists nevertheless. Just like him.

I look to both my right and left, expecting to find him by my side like he usually stations himself. But he isn't here. My head whips around to check behind me, followed by the rest of my body a heartbeat later.

I find him standing thirty feet away in the shadows of the gloomy forest, his face expressionless. But his eyes are a different story. They are anguished, the skin around them scrunched together as he watches me enjoying myself. I can sense the worry coming off him in waves.

My grin weakens into a small smile. I stretch out my hand, coaxing him silently to join me. Gradually, he moves out from the shadows, keeping his gaze on me the whole time. When he reaches where I am, he tugs me until I am in his arms. I lay on his chest and close my eyes. His hand moves into my hair, rubbing my scalp as his face rests on the top of my head. We don't talk. We don't have to. Something bothers him. I know that. He needs me to comfort him. So, that is what I do.

We stay this way for a short while until he takes a step backwards and announces in a gentle voice that I should rest. With our interlaced fingers tethering us together, he leads us over to a spot on the other side of the meadow. He shoves off his backpack and pulls out a soft blanket, which he carefully spreads upon the grass. My eyebrows lift up a bit when he yanks out food from the inside of the backpack. So we are having a picnic after all.

I drop to my knees and crawl until I find a comfortable spot on the blanket to sit. Meanwhile, Edward yanks off his hoodie, leaving himself in his simple t-shirt. He then hands me my lunch which consists of a canteen of water, an apple, and a sandwich that I guess Esme made since it has a toothpick impaling a green olive on top. I can't picture Edward trying to fancy up a plain ham and cheese sandwich.

I finish my lunch and admire the scenery while he continues to eat. I am observing a honeybee land on a yellow daffodil when I am interrupted.

"Bella?" Edward says aloud.

His right hand passes through his hair and a clump of it flattens against his bronze head for approximately three seconds. Then it pops right back up, the same as before.

Upon seeing that I am listening, he coughs into his hand and goes on speaking. "As you know, I brought you here today for more than just sightseeing. There's something that I need to tell you - about me - that may be hard for you to understand. But, I think that you should know all the same."

Squirming on the blanket, he inhales a large gulp of air, releasing it slowly as he focuses on me. "I'm not like most people, Bella," he begins. "I'm...different."

His shoulders sag a couple of inches and he laughs once humorlessly. "Dear god. That makes me sound conceited, doesn't it?" he mutters, almost like he is speaking to himself. A weary sigh blows out from his lips and he tries to redirect his attention back to me. "Let me try this again... Bella, I'm not quite what I've made myself out to be. People today like to call me old-fashioned. Like Emmett tells me nearly everyday."

We exchange a smile. "And I am," he continues. "I might wear what is considered the latest in fashion, like these ridiculously uncomfortable pair of jeans Alice badgered me to put on this morning. But this isn't what I was accustomed to wearing prior to last summer. Before then, I wore tweed suits. And driving caps."

The tiny smile slips off his face and a frown rears its ugly head. "I'm not making much sense, am I?" he mumbles softly.

Maintaining eye contact, my hand comes to rest on top of his. "It's all right. Go on," I encourage.

He takes a moment to study our hands on the blanket before he says anything. Another drawn out sigh comes out. "I suppose I should try to explain this another way..." he trails off ruminatively. Several seconds tick by. Then his eyes meet my face once again. "Can you recall the day when I told you that I didn't belong here?"

I force myself to stop focusing on the matter at hand and attempt to think back to what he is referring to. Soon, the day in question resurfaces. We were at his house. I sat on his piano bench, trying to understand how someone as talented as Edward could keep what he can do hidden from the world at large.

"Yes. It was the day that you brought me to your house to borrow those books," I reply.

An energy that was not there before materializes in his eyes, making them almost glow. "That's right. And you told me that maybe I was meant to come here. That it was destiny."

I quietly agree with him.

His mouth does a small, half-smile. "Well, you were right. Everything started coming together for me after you told me that." He stops to quickly moisten his bottom lip, his eyes and face reverting back to seriousness. "Bella. I'm not really from here. I was...brought to this place - against my will. I spent months trying to get back home, but I couldn't-"

His words come to a sudden halt, his brows crashing together for a short time. One of my teeth nearly bite a hole into my lip. I don't like the sound of that. He tried to go back home? To Chicago? To... whenever he originally lived there? If he had succeeded, we would have never met...

When the dissatisfied expression on his face passes, he increases his stare. "My driver's license might say I was born in 1987, but I wasn't. I'm not from this time... I'm from-"

My hand that rests on his knuckles trembles, too caught up in the drawn-out excitement to remain still. At the same moment, Edward's eyes dart from my hand to my face. Lines form in between his eyebrows. He removes his hand out from under mine and goes to scrape his palm down his face, from his forehead down to his eyes. The hand lingers in this position for longer than I anticipate - like he plans to stay this way for the reminder of his life.

I had a gut feeling that this would be hard for him to talk about. But this is worse than I had imagined.

I crawl over the blanket to him. One of my hands captures him by his wrist and I tug the fingers from his face. Now that he has nothing to block himself from my view, he looks me in the eye again.

"It will be OK, Edward," I promise him, though the faint frown on his face says that he does not believe me.

I take notice that his hair is more wild and out of control than usual. One of the times when he compulsively ran his hand from the front to the back of his scalp has caused clumps of it to stick up. I release his wrist and smooth down the glossy strands poking out from the side of his head, my fingers brushing behind his ear. Edward's eyelids lower slightly, as though I am putting him to sleep.

"I believe you," I murmur.

He sucks in a gulp of air, but his breathing soon evens out. The strained look around his eyes slowly vanishes and his lowered eyelids gently shut. With me playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, he visibly relaxes under my touch.

I remain on my knees and keep on comforting him. He needs it. But as minutes go by, he doesn't say anything else. Sure, he admitted one thing - that he wasn't born in 1987 like everyone assumes - but I already guessed that myself. I kind of need him to fill me in on the details so I can get a decent night's sleep again.

"I-I already know," I stammer, hoping he won't be too upset at finding out that I snooped around behind his back.

His eyelids unlatch and he remains motionless for a long moment. "What?"

"I already know," I repeat in a louder voice.

Edward's mouth pinches together and his head starts to rock back and forth. "That's impossible. You couldn't possibly-"

"You were born around 1901," I interject, sitting up straighter. His head stops shaking and his eyes bulge, but I press on without stopping. "Your father was born in Iowa in about 1872 and your mother was born around 1878. Your cook's name was Martha Fairman and she was born in Massachusetts sometime in 1858."

Edward's mouth hangs open an inch. He says nothing and does not move, barely breathing. It's almost like he has gone into hibernation, except his eyes are wide open and staring at me in complete shock.

"Right?" I prod, my eyebrows hovering near my hairline.

The Adam's apple in his neck bobs as he roughly swallows. As though re-emerging from a trance, his eyelashes flutter a few times.

"Bella," he gasps as though in a loss for words.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I say, deepening my stare.

He drinks in a calming breath and his forehead dips down into a baffled expression. "I don't understand. How do you know...?"

Taking that as confirmation that I am right, I get off of my knees and sit in a more comfortable position. I explain how when I googled my name and Charlie's, I got plenty of search results. But when I looked up his and his parents' names, I got basically nothing.

I tilt my head to the side and allow my eyes to travel over him. He may dress in modern clothes but it doesn't hide the person who lies underneath them.

"I always knew that you weren't like the other boys at school," I go on. "I've never met anyone like you. You're smart. Quick witted. Unfailingly kind to everyone - even when you hate them.

"I noticed right away that you don't talk like most boys. Your choice of words and phrasing - it's not often that you hear a teenage boy say mesmerizing without there being a vocabulary quiz involved somehow. Then there is the way that you behave. You want to open doors for me, kiss my hand when we say goodnight. Pay for everything. At first I just shrugged that off as being the way you were brought up."

My mouth briefly purses out. Come to think of it, that last statement still holds true, I guess. Boys born in 1901 probably had more social rules to follow than their modern equivalents.

"Then last Saturday night when I was attacked by that...guy, you showed up out of nowhere and I was so relieved to see you. I had thought that I would never see you again. That alone almost killed me. As soon as I saw your face, I knew that everything would be all right. We would be all right.

"But then you had to fight the guy... I was terrified that you would hurt yourself. I was about to tell you to stop - that we could just leave and call the police. But you did something that made me speechless."

My eyelids shut, immerging me back to the events of that night a little over a week ago. I picture Edward moving into the strange, muted lighting of the alley - his skin, hair, and clothes appearing in shades of sepia cream and brown.

My hands figet in my lap, not knowing how this next part will sound to his ears. After all, it's not every day that someone claims that their boyfriend looked like they just stepped out of an antique photograph.

I reopen my eyes and meet his gaze again. "Do you remember all those old pictures we saw at that museum that day?" I ask. Without waiting for a response, I continue. "Well, I guess that made a bigger impression on me than I realized because when you were preparing to fight that guy, you did something strange. The position you were in - it's not something that most boxers do anymore."

I lean closer and take his hand. "One time, Charlie and I watched a documentary about John L. Sullivan, that boxer from the late nineteenth century. Boxers like him used that stance. And when I saw you that night, in the half light, you reminded me of those pictures of him from that film. It stunned me. I couldn't understand why I would connect that to you.

"I spent the rest of that night thinking over everything I knew about you. And I realized on the drive home that you never told me very much about your family. I knew the basics, of course... That your family had all died. That your grandfather's name was Obadiah." My face screws up at the memory. "Looking back, that should have been a clue right there," I add dryly. I shake my head at myself and press on. "So, I began asking you all those questions that night. And you answered them easily. I knew that you were telling me the truth. I could tell."

I take a break from my explanation and study him. He hasn't budged an inch since I began talking. "Have you ever heard of genealogy?" I question him.

He doesn't reply at first. He just sits there like he is too traumatized to make sense of anything I have told him. However, a few seconds in, his head slowly moves up and down.

I smile a little, thankful that he is still coherent enough to understand what I asked. So, I tell him how Mom was once obsessed with looking up her ancestors and had some knowledge on the subject. I explain how since I could not find any information on him or his parents on Google, I decided to look up his family on a genealogy website. And I sheepishly admit that when he phoned my house last Sunday, one of the reasons that I had been waiting for Mom to call me back was so I could ask for her advice on how to "help a friend with a family history project".

"I began searching as soon as I got off the phone with her," I confess. "All I did was type in your name and Chicago as being your place of residence, Edward. It was one of the first hits. The 1910 United States census.

"When I first saw it, I thought that maybe it was going to be one of your ancestors - a great grandfather or something like that. But as soon as I saw it with my own eyes, I knew it had to be you. It listed 'Edward Masen Sr.' as a lawyer. It showed you, your mother, and Martha all living together."

With my hand firmly clasping his, I wait to see what he will say or do. It doesn't take long before he reacts. Blinking his eyes rapidly several times in succession, his head begins to subtly shake.

"Are you telling me that you've known since last Sunday afternoon?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"Yes."

Edward's thumb and forefinger squeeze the bridge of his nose, as if he is brooding over everything I told him.

His eyes suddenly fly open and his fingers fall to his lap. The bronze eyebrows on his face crash together. "I don't believe this. Why didn't you say something?" he grumbles.

I jerk my hand off of his and stare back with hardening eyes. "What if I was wrong, Edward? What if what I found was just one gigantic coincidence? There could have been a rational explanation for everything. I didn't want you to think I was crazy or anything," I fire back.

The irritation around his eyes lessens. His jaw unclenches. At first glance, I am relieved that he accepted my explanation so quickly. But his wooden expression has me thinking twice.

"You were afraid of sounding insane?" he questions with absolutely no emotion.

My head moves up and down.

Cackling an odd laugh, Edward's face tilts upwards. "You were afraid of sounding insane?" he emphasizes up to the gray clouds.

I chew the inside of my cheek, anxiously keeping an eye on him. It occurs to me that I am five miles away from the main road - sitting in a meadow in the middle of the darkest forest known to mankind - with a boy who I may have just pushed off the cliff of sanity.

Unsure of what to do, I give him another silent head nod.

By degrees, his stiff posture loosens and his upper body slants towards me. A small, boyish smile transforms his face from disturbed to euphoric.

"Bella... Do you have any idea how terrified I was today?" he asks with increasing excitement. "How I believed that the moment I told you that I wasn't from this century, that you would assume that I was mentally unstable and refuse to listen to me? And here I find that you knew all week!"

Edward's hand reappears to caress my face, the ends of his fingers splaying into my hair. He has done this many times since he appeared out of the blue in my kitchen the other day. Whenever his skin makes contact, all of my worries evaporate. I instinctively recline against his palm, closing my eyes and absorbing his warmth.

"Do you realize how amazing you are?" he utters, his tone raspy and low.

My eyelids pop back open and I dubiously squint up at him. He is from another time period, plays the piano like a prodigy, and fights like a heavyweight champion. And he has the gall to claim that I'm amazing? This boy really is crazy. Maybe it's a side effect from time travel.

"I think you have that backwards. It's you who are the amazing one," I counter seriously.

His mouth spreads into a lopsided grin, his eyes shining like freshly lit candles. While I am busy taking note of how his irises match the grass of the meadow, he pounces like a cat and drags me until I am sitting on his lap. I'm a little dizzy from the sudden movement, but mostly it's from having him wrapped around me so snugly that has my head spinning. His arm has ensnared my waist. The tip of his nose ghosts the side of my neck, bringing up hundreds of goosebumps in the best possible way. I think this is my favorite place in the world to be.

"I have a lot to tell you," he says softly at my ear.

"And I want to hear it all," I reply without hesitation.

He hugs me tighter for a few moments longer. Then, resting his chin on my shoulder, he begins his story.

"You were correct on all counts, Bella. I lived the first seventeen years of my life in a different time... A different world is perhaps a better way to put it. We had no computers, cellphones, commercial aircraft, television sets, Velcro, plastic, or about a thousand other things that everyone now takes for granted. Like most children of that era, I was not born in a hospital. I was delivered in my parents' bedroom. My father was a successful attorney who provided us with a fine house in the best neighborhood in Chicago. My mother enjoyed hosting tea parties during the day and often helped throw charity fundraisers during the weekends. Our housekeeper had been with us for decades and was the person who ensured the household ran properly.

"And I was the golden child - the one expected to walk down the path my father had paved for me. As I told you before, it was his wish for me to be an attorney one day - even though I personally had no love for the profession. However, during that time and in our particular social strata, your father's word and opinion was law. The plan was for me to graduate high school, attend a university, attain a law degree, and eventually join Father's firm. I suppose I could have dug in my heels and told my parents that I would rather do something else, but I never did. They had provided me a privileged life. They arranged for me to attend a respectable but bland school, gave me fine clothing to wear, served decent meals every day. I was never in want of anything. They loved me. And I loved them. All they asked for in return was for me to carry on Father's legacy. So, I never said a word to indicate that I did not look forward to that fate.

"But Father's desire to mold my future did not stop me from daydreaming. Looking back, I see that I was perhaps a bit of a rebel. If I was to spend my adult life bickering in a courtroom, I thought that I should spend my youth in pursuit of adventure." Edward remains quiet for a couple of moments. Then, I vaguely hear him swallow. "I assume you have heard of the Great War?"

"The Great War?" I repeat, puzzled by the contradictory term.

"You would likely know it by it's alternate name. World War One?"

Yeah. I have definitely heard of that.

I pivot enough where I can see his profile. With his head slightly tilted on my shoulder, his gaze is unfocused as he stares at a spot across the clearing. "Since Father had my future taken care of, I got it into my head that enlisting and being sent off to fight in some muddy trench overseas would make up for whatever mundane existence I would be subjected to one day." The ends of his mouth fall into a frown. "I bought into the war propaganda without questioning its accuracy. I sincerely believed that the war was a noble cause and needed more men to assist in fighting for freedom. Father did not object. He probably would have joined the war effort himself if he had been younger.

"Mother was of the opposite opinion. She hated the idea of me leaving Chicago to join a conflict on some faraway continent. There was hardly a day that went by when she didn't openly hint that enlisting would be a grave mistake. But I was obstinate. And naïve. I refused to believe that she was right. My imbecilic fantasies would not allow me to consider that I was anything less than invincible..." he trails off.

My finger moves to lightly touch the hair and skin of his forearm, comforting myself in a way. I may not have met Edward's mother but I think I know exactly how she felt all those years ago. To watch her first and only child wish to be sent off to battle in a war that had already killed hundreds of thousands? It must have been terrifying. The only bright side is that it appears that Edward has opened his eyes to the negatives of the conflict.

"When I watched some of my fellow classmates drop out of school and lie about their age in order to join the army, I was envious," he goes on. "I very much wished to do the same. Nevertheless, I swore to Mother that I would at least graduate high school before enlisting. So that is what I had planned to do. Graduate. Enlist. Somehow make it through the war unscathed, earning a soldier's glory in the process. And then I would come back home to Chicago and become what my parents had predestined for me to be." The frown on his face slackens somewhat, and his voice becomes faint. "Of course, none of that came to fruition. The war ended long before I was set to graduate. And all of our lives were irrevocably changed before that."

Edward twists at the waist, dragging his backpack to his side. Unzipping a large pocket, he extracts more than a dozen photographs and places them into my hands.

The first one I see has me sucking in a gasp of air. The sepia photo has three people posing in front of the camera. A family of three. The tall, lanky boy standing behind his parents wears no smile as he stares into the camera's lens. It's Edward. But then again, it's not. He doesn't wear a casual shirt and jeans like he wears today. Instead he has on a dark suit and bow tie, the exact colors impossible to deduce since this is a black and white photograph. And the boy in the picture has his hair flattened down to his scalp, like a vat of oil had been dumped on his head. My eyes quickly dart up to compare Edward's current hairstyle with his past look.

He chuckles with squinting eyes. "That was pomade in my hair. And before you ask - no - it was not something I used very often. To be honest, it was a god awful product. It smelled to high heaven and took days to wash out. Plus, it only took my hair a short time before it broke free from the stuff and did what it wanted anyway. The only reason I wore it that day was for the family photo. It was at Mother's insistence. She wanted one photo of me where my hair wasn't shooting up in all directions. Normally, I just stuffed my head under a hat and hid it from view."

I return to studying the next figure in the picture. The man sitting in front has the same nose, chin, and forehead as Edward. Basically, this man looks like an older version of the boy who holds me in his lap. I smile a little when I notice that Edward's father's hair had been plastered down to his scalp. Mrs. Mason must have insisted that her husband put that pomade stuff on his head, too.

The woman sitting regally in a chair next to Edward's father has her hair artfully wound on top of her head. Her dress is white, ruffled up to her neck, and drapes all the way down to her shoes. Her facial features are dainty and delicate, like a porcelain doll's.

"She was so beautiful," I whisper, barely moving my lips.

"She was," Edward replies, looking down at the photo with a wan smile.

I carefully shuffle to the next picture. It is of a grand, old-fashioned house with a pointed roof, tall windows, and detailed woodwork on its railings and columns. A rounded cupola stands on top of the house, reminiscent of a castle tower.

"This was our home," he announces. He points to an area on the side of the photo. "That's where we usually parked our car, but Father was away using it on this particular day. It seemed so stylish and modern to me back then. I loved driving it. On a good day with no wind or rain, I could get it to hit about 30 miles per hour. Though, I am certain that it would look little better than a carriage to your eyes," he adds with a smirk.

Seeing Edward in antique photographs or wearing fancy suits that have been out of style for decades isn't too difficult for me to accept. But picturing him at one point of his life driving a car less than 30 mph and actually enjoying it is something that I find to be unbelievable. Just yesterday when we drove to and from Seattle, his foot was permanently glued to the Volvo's accelerator and he griped whenever he had to go below 60 mph.

I flip to the third picture in the stack. There are ten boys standing on a field while a group of empty bleachers sits behind them. Each boy wears the same uniform as the rest - white shirt similar to a tank top and white shorts which end around three inches above the knee. At first glance, I am confused by what I see. Why did Edward get me to look at this? But, as soon as I catch sight of the messy-haired boy on the back row, I understand why.

"I was on the track team for a while," he says breezily. "This was taken near the beginning of September 1918 - just a couple of weeks before I arrived here in Forks."

My face drops back down to the picture and I examine it more thoroughly. Where most of his teammates stare at the camera with hunched shoulders, Edward's chin is held high and his arms are crossed at his chest - his biceps flexed slightly. And somehow his legs make the out-dated shorts seem less awkward than they appear on his teammates.

My cheeks heat up and I have to refrain from fanning myself. It is a huge relief that Edward is in a position behind me and can't see my reddened face. God, I'm pathetic. I'm probably the first person in more than sixty years that has gotten hot and bothered by an ancient track uniform. Heck, for all I know, Edward and his band of teammates may have been the first people to ever wear shorts.

I place that photo out of my sight before I accidentally drool on it and move on to the next one. It's a shot of Edward's father working at a large wooden desk. He explains that his father was at his firm in downtown Chicago. Next is Edward's mother - wearing an elegant, wide brimmed hat - posed in front of her rose bushes. I closely examine each picture that appears in the stack, marveling at how his life was once so different.

Another photo features a plump, matronly lady with a white apron laying on top of her dress. She reminds me of a stereotypical Mrs. Claus except her hair is not snow white. In her hand is a rolling pin, and behind her is a large wad of dough. On a table nearby are apples in varying stages of being peeled and cut up. Like many of the other photos I have seen of people of this time period, the woman does not smile. Most people back then kept their features expressionless. But the woman in this picture does not. She pouts at the camera, her eyebrows skewed downwards. When Edward explains that Martha was upset at having to stop baking just so the photographer could get a decent snapshot of her, I laugh a little. I laugh more when I notice that the elementary school aged boy sitting across the room from Martha and whose legs do not yet reach the floor is a young Edward. With his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, I smile when it hits me that he was shoving apple slices into his mouth. Evidently, his table manners back then weren't quite what they are today.

My light giggles fade away as I take notice that I have looked through all of the photos. I give them back and watch as he zips them back up into the backpack. I've seen with my own eyes the proof that he is from an era long ago. But one question remains unanswered.

"How did you come here?" I say once he has completed his task.

His arm weaves it's way around my middle again and the sparkle in his eyes dim. "My father took sick first. The Spanish Influenza was just beginning to rage through the city. I drove him to the hospital in the middle of the night. The place was a living nightmare, Bella. Doctors and nurses were scrambling around. The sick and the dying were slung into every spare bed in the facility.

"Father grew worse by the hour. It was a terrible sight to see. The man that I had only seen as stable and strong minded had suddenly become bedridden. He was so weak, he could barely move... He silently suffered." Edward pauses to draw in a breath. "The next night, my mother insisted that I needed to go home to rest. I had been up on my feet for nearly the entire time we had been there. I told her no, but she said that I needed to rest so I could help them the next day. So... I said goodbye to them and began to drive home." He stops again, his eyelids lowering. "That was the last time I ever saw them," he confesses in a whisper.

My fingers wrap around the elbow which hugs my waist, gently reminding him that I am here to offer comfort if he needs it. He told me last Saturday that his family all died from the flu. I assumed that he meant some horrible modern strain stole them away. Now I understand. And although I am sorry that he lost them, I am thankful that he did not meet a similar fate. That epidemic killed more victims than the First World War.

"What happened?" I nudge at him.

"I decided to relax at a park before I went home. It was dark, the sun had set long before I left the hospital. There was a bench in the middle of the park that I found and I sat down to just listen to the nighttime sounds of the city. I sat there for a while - just thinking. Then, a strange sound from nearby made me curious. I stood up and began searching the area for the source. I'm still not positive, but it sounded like drums were being played in the middle of the park. Eventually I entered a small grove of trees and shrubs and found where the sound originated."

His mouth twitches a few times while his brows lower themselves. "There was a swirling vortex. It spun in place... Have you ever noticed how water will spin around in a sink as it goes through the drain?"

My head moves up and down slowly.

"Well, it was similar to that, but on a larger scale," he explains. "I could hear the sound of the drums coming from inside of it. And although I knew that whatever it was could be dangerous, I could not resist taking a closer look. It was like being handed Pandora's Box and being told to never open it. My curiosity overpowered me, I suppose. So, I reached out to touch it... And it sucked me inside."

My fingers dig into his arm in a death grip. Being sucked inside of anything couldn't be very pleasant. But a weird vortex? It sounds like something from a nightmare.

"Did it hurt?" I rush out.

"No. It didn't hurt at all. I only fell."

I relax slightly and lean back into him. "What was it like?"

For a brief second, his mouth puckers contemplatively. "Have you ever read Alice In Wonderland? Well, it was similar to how she would have felt, I would think. But, instead of landing in a magical land, I landed right over there." He stretches out his arm to point towards a grassy area twenty feet away.

I sit up straighter in his lap, my eyes expanding. "This is where you appeared?"

"Umm hmm. It was nearly twilight - June 20 of last year. The sun was setting and there was just enough light to see the meadow. I thought that I was still in the park somewhere. I had yet to realize that not only was I not in Chicago, I was in a completely different century. So, I decided that I needed to find a way out. I spent the next few hours wandering through the forest. It was too dark to see and then it began raining at some point during the night. It soaked me to the bone... Anyway, I became disoriented soon enough and fell down an embankment." His chin moves from my shoulder and goes to rest on top of my head. "And that's where your father found me the next day," he adds in a lighter voice, his breath tickling my scalp.

Somehow, my eyes stretch wider than ever before. Things make more sense now. Yet it is also more painful to fathom. Mike once mocked Edward for venturing into the forest and getting lost. But I see that it was not so simple. Not only was Edward unexpectedly thrust into another time period, he was dumped into a random locale in the wilderness. He would have had no compass, no map, and no supplies to protect against the elements. Any number of bad things could have happened to him - numerous ones jumping into my head immediately. Grizzly attack. Starvation. Disease. Lumberjack serial killer. The possibilities are endless.

The horrifying thought has me jumping off his lap and onto the blanket in order to properly look at him head-on. "You could have died," I panic.

His face dips lower, gazing back calmly but seriously. "I could have, but I didn't."

"You almost did," I squeak. If Charlie hadn't decided to fish in that particular area that day, would Edward have survived at all?

One shoulder lifts relaxedly while his head shakes back and forth. "I don't believe that fate would have allowed that. I think it had other plans, love."

My lungs hold on to the air in my chest for longer than normal and I stare in silent wonder. Does Edward not realize what he just called me? He said it smoothly, like he has referred to me as "love" since day one.

His eyes squint a little, concern written within them. "What's wrong?"

I don't answer right away. My brain eagerly sorts through this new development. I knew that he cared for me. That is no surprise. But I had not anticipated that he could feel more than that already.

My heart flutters and simultaneously swells from the knowledge. He loves me. Just like I love him.

A slow smile slips onto my face. "Nothing. It's just a lot to take in all at once, I guess."

The worry in his eyes melts away and he nods. "I know."

"What happened after that?" I urge, getting us back on our previous subject.

"Your father took me to the hospital and I stayed there for three days," Edward responds. His mouth curls and a disgruntled expression appears. "It was not a pleasant experience."

"And then?"

"Then I went to live with the Cullens."

I draw in my bottom lip and deliberate on how to introduce another topic - the Cullens' many strange characteristics that mark them as different from the rest of us.

My fingers nervously fidget on my lap. "OK, but how did you come to live with them in the first place? Jessica told me that Dr. Cullen was your godfather."

Edward pulls in air as though to speak, yet not a word comes out. His eyes dart their focus from me, down to the blanket, and back to my face once again.

"He wasn't really, Bella. That was something I had to tell the students to keep them from knowing the truth."

My mouth twists to the side. If Carlisle is not his godparent, there must be some other reason why Edward came under his care.

"I looked him up, too," I announce before I can chicken out.

"And what did you find?" he asks steadily without moving a muscle.

"Barely anything. I only found his name listed as a doctor at Forks Hospital."

Edward's stiff posture loosens. When he does not comment on what I have shared, I add, "I looked up your whole family, but I could find only a handful of information... They know all about you, don't they?"

"Yes. They know everything."

"And you know everything about them... Don't you?"

Tilting his head, his eyes narrow slightly. "What do you mean?"

I ignore my nervous stomach and spill everything that I have gathered. "None of them are related, yet they all share the same strange eye color. All of them have the palest, whitest skin that I have ever seen. Both Alice and Emmett have ice cold hands. And, for some unexplainable reason, the residents in La Push think they are dangerous. But, not you." I deepen my gaze. "They aren't like you or me, are they?"

Slamming his eyelids together, his face remains tense for a span of ten seconds. When they gradually reopen, a hint of exhaustion haunts his eyes. "You are right. They aren't like us. They are very special people." He pauses to move his long legs out from underneath himself and leans back on his hands. "I can't say anymore than that for right now. I promised that I would protect them as best as I could. I swore that I would keep quiet about their...personal business. But, I will speak with them soon about this. I think you should know, too."

"Will they be mad?" I wonder, thinking back on all of my snooping.

"For the most part, I should think that they won't be. If I know them, they probably have been preparing for this since January."

My head jars back, as though I am experiencing whiplash. "Why?" I blurt, scrunching my forehead.

Edward's face slumps into a lopsided grimace. "There is more that I can't tell you quite yet. I'll just say that some in the family believed that there was a reason that I came here. Some of them thought the reason is you."

"Me?" I say, my tone fluctuating into a high pitch.

"Yes, love. There's something else I haven't told you about. I had a couple of dreams in the days before my father became sick. They both involved a woman in a white wedding gown that I could only see from behind. I didn't think too much of them at the time... Starting after you moved here, the dreams returned. I would chase after her through the forest - which by the way, looked much like these woods surrounding us. Then, the week before last, the dreams changed. I caught up to her and spun her around to face me. And it was you."

My jaw flops down to my chest.

Without hesitation, he adds more. "I dreamt of you over eighty years ago and arrived in the same time period as you. If fate wasn't involved somehow, then I don't know what to think."

The enormity of everything he has shared overwhelms my senses, causing my skin to change to cold and clammy. Edward lost his parents to the Spanish Flu pandemic. He is a time traveler. He lives with a group of people that he has termed "special". While all three of these things are thought provoking, the dream has left me dumbstruck.

Edward dreamed of me decades before I existed. He calls it fate. And I have to agree that it does appear that way. But what he saw inevitably revives in my memories the multiple conversations Mom has had with me concerning marriage. She and Charlie had dated some during high school and suddenly found themselves dealing with a teenage pregnancy. They married right away, wanting me to come into this world in a two parent household. That lasted until I was a toddler. Then, Mom decided that they were incompatible. The divorce came soon afterwards.

"Don't make the same mistake I made, Bella," Mom would drill into my skull at every opportunity. "Wait until you are in your thirties before you even consider marrying anyone."

I always listened politely to her advice on waiting to marry, but I never thought it would apply to me. The idea of marriage to a girl who spent more of her time reading of fictional characters than hanging out with actual people her own age sounded like a fantasy. I thought that I would likely never meet any intelligent, hypnotic males who could be similarly attracted to me. Instead, I am seventeen years old and already found one who just so happens to know what I look like in a white wedding gown.

Edward's face falls in a wince. "Too much too soon?"

I blink a few times to clear my head, temporarily banishing thoughts of wedding dresses and marriage. I'll worry about them later.

"Maybe just a little," I gulp in a tiny voice.

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A/N- Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoyed the super duper long chapter.

Next Chapter- Stormy weather during the drive home. A frantic phone call. A sudden disappearance. And one pissed off vampire.

Thanks for reading! :-)