Ch. 9

It was nearly noon, and the phone hadn't rung once, no news from Mother of Helen's or Father's condition, no news from Mr. Swan about Ruth. The community search was called off due to the growing panic of what was being deemed a global pandemic. The flu was rampant in the city seemingly overnight.

Was no news indeed good news in either of these situations? I could not confidently affirm that it would be, so I maintained silence on the issues.

Few words had passed between either Bella or myself all morning as we anxiously waited in the sunroom for that damned phone to ring. No matter how many paces I made past the device or how many disconcerted sighs escaped Bella's lips, it sat there stubbornly quiet.

After listening into the receiver for the operator's greeting and subsequently excusing myself for bothering the poor woman once again for what seemed like the hundredth time this afternoon, I went to rest at my piano bench. I began playing "Reverie," a calm arrangement composed by one of Bella's favorite pianists, Claude Debussy. I hoped the softness and gentle lilt to the melody might soothe Bella, but she gave no indication that she even heard me play as she continued to stare blankly out the stained glass windows into Mother's garden. She had barely moved in the last several hours save the subtle twitch of her fingers every now and again as if she longed to reach for something but failed to remember what it was when she moved. I shook my head with a hushed sigh at the sight. It pained me to see her suffer.

Around one thirty, I finally halted my playing, instead turning to face my love. "Bella?" I called softly not wanting to startle her from deep thought.

"Hmm?" She appeared so rapt with whatever was in the grass outside that she didn't seem to respond consciously to me. Her subdued hum was more like a subliminal reflex, the result of habit in polite company rather than a conscious decision. Even when I said nothing more, she simply went back to gazing dreamily out into the trees rather than inquire with me further.

"Love," I tried once again a few moments later, but this time I crossed the room slowly, careful once again not to surprise her with my sudden movement, and I lightly brushed my fingers to her bare arm.

Despite the casual ease and innocent motive on my part of the gesture, that same shock of need that never seemed to stray too far whenever Bella was concerned propelled through me, beginning where my fingers touched her elbow and ending somewhere between my legs. 'Not now. This is NOT an appropriate reaction.' I internally berated my innermost basic self who seemed so pitifully desperate for physical affection at all times, proper timing or no.

"Oh, Edward, forgive my wandering mind. Did you say something?" Bella finally arose from the haze, looking around with an expression of flustered bewilderment. She didn't allow me to respond before further questioning, "What time is it? Have you heard from your mother?" If she had been static before, now she was undeniably in an active state, brushing the dust from the tail of her skirt and looking about the room as if in search of some task to busy her idle hands.

"No, but perhaps she's busy caring for Helen or father. The hospital was very understaffed this morning according to Dr. Cullen." I answered in a troubled voice.

I frowned to myself when I thought of the odd events from overnight. I would forever be grateful that the strange man had arrived when he had and for the way he took charge of father's care, but I still felt uneasy about why he had been here in the first place. It didn't seem likely that a busy doctor such as he would spare his precious time to make house calls on the off chance that someone in the household might have contracted illness from another of his patients. It was very odd circumstances.

"Perhaps," She agreed in a non-committal tone, but she brushed passed me, making a straight line to the kitchen. Confused about her enterprise, I followed after her and watched as she began opening and closing cabinets, pulling out bowls and pots and pans along with random vegetables from the pantry.

I wanted to stop her, slow her, but I was so amazed at the chaos before me that I was momentarily caught in a dizzying trance as I witnessed the storm before me.

"What would you like for dinner? I could pull the chicken from the ice box or maybe a roast? How do potatoes sound? Oh, there are green beans too. A growing boy—pardon me, man—" she laughed turbulently in my direction and continued, "—like you needs to eat more greens. Your mother would never forgive me if I didn't feed you vegetables. And what about dessert? I wonder if we have all the ingredients for lemon squares here? Where would Helen have left the grater?"

"Lemon squares?" I asked incredulously. Had my poor Bella's mind completely fractured? Had the stress finally been her undoing?

"Do you not like citrus? I'm sure I could substitute the lemon for something else. How about strawberries? You love strawberries. I could just—"

"Bella!" My conscious mind finally met pace with my ability to control my body, so I placed my hands tenderly but firmly on her shoulders, waiting until she unfroze and her stunned, chocolate-drenched eyes met mine. "Whatever you prepare will be lovely, but how many people were you planning to feed?"

She seemed perplexed at what I was asking and why, until dawning steadily crossed her features and she nearly turned the shade of a plum's rind.

At first I thought she might be embarrassed from me calling attention to her erratic behavior, but then when she didn't immediately breathe, I was far more concerned that something psychological might truly be the culprit behind the change in her. Then she threw away all of my mind's wildest inventions when she laughed. It was a breathy snicker which gradually changed to more of a steady chuckle but finally reached an outright guffaw. She was bent over herself with arms hugging her abdomen, tears pooling in her eyes and shoulders bouncing uncontrollably. I was so discombobulated by her disorganized, capricious turn of state that I couldn't laugh along with her.

I placed the back of my hand to her forehead. "Are you feeling ill? Come lie down. I'll make some tea for you." I wasn't sure what the tea would do, but it was something Mother had always offered to me from the time I was a small boy when I wasn't feeling well.

"No...Edward..." She was still lost in her hilarity, trying her best to speak between gasps. "I can't...it's just too much. Ruth and your father...Helen...the pots. There are at least twenty pots!" She was practically in hysterics at this point. Yes, she was truly broken.

"But—"

"And the potatoes! Why...are...there...so many?" She choked out as she continued to convulse in gaiety.

I recognized that there was not going to be any lucid communication with her at the moment. She had clearly been pushed into delirium with all the stress as I had suspected moments before. Somewhere in my mind I was making plans to call Dr. Cullen just as soon as I could trust Bella alone.

"Here, love. Come to the parlor. Rest. I'll take care of lunch. That's right...just take my hand." I guided her to the sofa, giving her a loving nudge until she seemed to be comfortably seated.

She wasn't laughing so much as hiccuping with a childish grin, drunk with anxiety. If I didn't know her any better, I might have believed that she had gotten into Father's liquor cabinet with the way she was acting.

"You're going to cook?" She asked between spasms.

"Yes..." I answered hesitantly. She had quipped about my lack of capability in the kitchen before, and I wasn't quite sure what would trigger her hysteria again.

And that did it. She flopped over onto her side, wiping tears from her eyes once again. I closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my own throat. I was the man. I was supposed to maintain control here. I couldn't break down now. Father would be disappointed with me if I tried. 'Man up, Masen.' I spoke in my mind.

"Bella, I'll be back with tea and a sandwich for you. Please, relax." I urged with as much resolution as I could muster. I feared that I would soon meet my own threshold for tension if we didn't receive good news on any front.

As I returned from the kitchen, balancing a cup of tea in one hand and a plate with a cheese sandwich and apple slices in the other, I jumped and nearly dropped the meal when there was a knock on the door.

I glanced over to the sofa, relieved to see that Bella had fallen asleep, and after placing the small plate and glass on the console table beside the sofa, I made my way to the foyer.

"Yes?" I asked in a distracted tone, opening the door while straining to look back over my shoulder and watch my love sleep. After her behavior of the last several hours, I loathed to be even a room away.

"You were looking for me, Masen?" A male voice thick with equal parts annoyance and arrogance inquired of me.

Almost instantaneously I was consumed with fury as I abruptly turned around to see Tim glaring at me from my porch, and I didn't even attempt to hide my hate. He had chosen the wrong time to show his blasted face.

"Yes, I have been." I didn't wait for a reply before charging toward him, grabbing him by the collar of his heinously wrinkled shirt, and using that momentum to swing him around and slam him up against the siding of the house. "Where's Ruth?!"

"Urg furgh momee!" He answered indecipherably, and I realized that I held my forearm over his face, blocking his mouth. Shifting only slightly just far enough to allow him to answer while still keeping him locked in my hold, I continued my interrogation.

"Pardon?" I growled, far past tired of his games.

"Get off of me!" He was thrashing under my arms, but he wasn't half my size. He had no dog in this fight.

"No, I don't think I will until you answer the question! Where. Is. Ruth?" I spat.

Tim's face was changing to a very pleasing shade of red and his eyes were nearly bulging as I tightened my grip. "If you killed her, I will turn you in. Where is she, Tim? I'm not playing with you! Where's the girl?!" I was really fuming now. He was going to answer me. I couldn't protect father or Helen. I couldn't turn back time and save Ruth from whatever suffering she had surely endured at the hands of this monster, but I could, at the very least, demand answers now. I had to do this for Ruth, for Bella.

"I didn't...do anything!" He gasped, obviously fighting to draw a deeper breath, but I didn't care. He didn't afford Ruth that right, so he should suffer.

"That's a lie if I ever heard one! Where is she?" I demanded again.

"I don't know! I wouldn't hurt her...I love her!" He yelled in a sudden outburst. Then he was bawling uncontrollably.

That stopped me. "Love her?" I released him just slightly, so that he could take in a shaky breath.

"Yes." He huffed out, rubbing his face on his shoulder in an attempt to cover his tears. "I...I love her." He stammered weakly once more.

This revelation couldn't be true. It had to be one of his games. "Why are you always bothering Bella then? What happened on Friday night?" I was still suspicious. I had never known Tim to show any sign of sensitivity or vulnerability. His way of showing sentiment was to claim superiority, offer sarcastic commentary, and throwing crude gestures, generally speaking, so I couldn't think anyone would blame me for my lack of confidence in the mongrel now.

"I just wanted Ruth to be jealous. I know Bella is with you, but she's a nice girl. She always responds to me even when I know I'm being a jerk. I thought it was working too. Ruth finally agreed to go to the theater with me. She was flirting. I thought she was having an enjoyable time..." he trailed off, not able or willing to meet my gaze.

He wanted Ruth to be jealous? "So what happened?" I prompted again, still with the same rough timbre, though with far less conviction than I began.

"She told me that she wasn't interested, declined my offer for courtship. She told me that there was someone else, and when she wouldn't tell me who...It was her fault! She wouldn't answer me. She—"

All of a sudden there was a barrage of imagined, but likely, visions of a rejected Tim forcing himself onto a defenseless Ruth playing through my mind. "You said you wouldn't hurt her! Where is she?" I screamed, furious once again. I clenched my hands around his neck. He wasn't going to trick me again. He didn't care for her! I knew who he was. He was an animal, the worst kind of behemoth. He just wanted a pass, an accomplice, an alibi. He wanted to paint this image in my mind to assuage my fears and gain my trust. He thought he could get away with his crimes, but not while I was on his trail!

"I—" he tried again but seemed to be growing tired of fighting me. 'Good! He should be stopped! He attacked an innocent girl all because she rejected his advances!'

"What in the hell are you doing?!" I heard Mr. Swan yell, and only just noticed him through the crimson haze of my wrath dashing around the corner, headed straight for Tim and me. "Get off of him!" He ripped me away from Tim but not without unwavering protest on my part.

"He did something to her!"

"Who?" Bella's father looked back and forth between us, Tim cowering into himself and me on the verge of swinging fists.

"I did not!" Tim cried feebly from his near fetal position, but he ducked back behind Mr. Swan when I surged toward him again, the coward.

"Who?!" Mr. Swan yanked me backward and demanded an answer with exasperation from trying to juggle the two of us.

"Ruth! He was angry about her dismissal of his affection, and he did something to her!" I explained in a tight voice, desperate for Bella's father to hear the truth in my words. I couldn't help but lunge toward the dastard once more.

Without releasing where he had finally found steady purchase on Tim's arm, Mr. Swan looked to me, and with all his authority he commanded, "Stand down, Edward! Let me take care of this." His words were a quiet hiss, emitted from between his teeth, and the look of severity in his gaze was so intimidating and unmistakeable that I didn't question his process. This was Officer Swan at work. "Go inside and look after my daughter as I asked." He emphasized without looking away from Tim who was visibly shaking.

He nodded toward the house—and I could have been mistaken—but I swear that there was hint of pride in his look when he briefly met my eyes as I turned to go back up the stairs.

Our benign, love-sick Edward seems to have some pent up aggression. Maybe we should help him out with some words of encouragement! Follow and review!