Release

A/N for 2018-09-08: A reader commented: "I bow down in reverence, awe, and maybe a little bit of fear regarding just how dark are the ideas brewing in that imagination of yours." No doubt, I do write some dark stuff, and completely understand where this comment comes from. I assure you, my mind and life are very typical: I teach high school English, and herd my four children with a modicum of success. I'm also a very anxious person, and have found stories to be an excellent place to stick said anxieties. I can create problems for my characters, and then resolve them in ways of my own choosing. It's soothing, that control. Strange as it seems, it keeps me from perseverating needlessly over real life worries.

I'm still blown away that other people find what I write enjoyable.

As always, I'm eager for specific, informed, and constructive criticism of my work. One thing that I've wondered about this week is if I have an appropriate balance of description to dialogue. I worry I'm over-describing, and wonder if I could be more efficient with my prose.

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts,

~ Erin

She'd been afraid of being detained. Had imagined the room Mac had shoved her in. Remembered the man he'd brought. Thought she would be made to endure such things again. It had been an illogical fear, born of all the distress that Mark's confrontation had wrought.

It had been a small room, but no one had troubled her there, food and drink slipped inside on a tray when she didn't come out for meals.

She'd shrunk into herself, aided by the shrinking of her flesh and its intentional desiccation.

A starving body feels so much less than a fed one.

She was more alert now, resentment growing for what hydration was doing to her—for the circumstances it recalled her to.

There was an IV taped to her arm. She reached over to yank it out, and a cold hand stopped her.

"Sorry," Edward said, when her shriek ended, "but you need to leave that in."

Bella stared at him. He was there. He'd come back.

He'd pulled his hand away, fingers tangled together as he leaned forward in the chair.

She took a series of very short breaths. Something was beeping loudly behind her.

Edward reached over and pressed a button, silencing the sound.

The door to the room opened, and a nurse came in, her blue scrubs tight across a wobbling midsection. "Oh, you're up," she smiled. She had a stethoscope in hand, and waddled to the bed, moving to put the metal disc to Bella's chest without warning.

Bella's un-IV'd hand jerked up defensively, giving the nurse a hard, and unintentional smack to the face.

"Hey!" the woman said angrily, stepping back, rubbing the smarting flesh

"Don't touch me," Bella snarled. Anger, so well suppressed in the last weeks, flared up usefully.

The nurse was still breathing hard. When she moved to come closer again, Edward stood abruptly. "Perhaps you can come back later?"

"I have checks to do," she said through surly lips.

"You could do them later," Edward suggested politely.

"Who're you again?" she asked, tone more aggressive than necessary. "Family?"

"A friend."

"Get out," Bella said, looking at the nurse, knowing her a threat to Edward's presence.

The woman arched her eyebrows towards her. "Pardon me, kid?"

"Get out."

"I'll get someone else," she said curtly, turning and going, body still full of indignant stiffness.

Bella's good hand pulled off the monitor on her other hand, and then reached for the IV again.

"Bella, don't."

Her hand continued its work.

"She's going to have them put you in restraints." The words were rushed out.

"What?" Bella asked, stopping, looking at him.

"She's going to ask the doctor to put you in restraints," he repeated.

"How do you—?" she looked outside the room. There was no way he could hear.

The nurse was on the phone, turning around, looking into the room, scowling as she talked.

"She's looking for a resident to sign off on it."

"How can you know that?"

"Do you really want to risk it?"

Bella looked at the nurse, still muttering into the receiver, and then at Edward.

"I have no legal authority to stop her. You'd need to wait for BIlly, and I'm not sure when he'll get here."

He was clearly distressed by what he imagined happening to her.

She didn't release the IV needle, asking, "how do you know what she's saying?" It was too specific, she knew, to be a guess.

"I heard her, Bella," he said, like it was obvious, but she caught a tiny wrinkle of worry at the bridge of his nose.

"Then why can't I?"

"You're hardly well."

Her hand tightened over the IV.

His cold one came to rest lightly on her taut forearm, and he leaned forward, "she's found someone." His eyes pleaded with her.

"How can you hear?" she said, holding back the shake that was growing. She wanted to know.

"Please," he whispered, his face now visibly pained.

This small word undid her resolve. She let go of the needle.

Edward leaned back, posture softened by relief. He looked pointedly at the nurse, whose body language also seemed to relax.

"She's a troublemaker," Edward said, lifting his chin towards the sullen face near the window. "My Dad's talked about her. Likes the night shifts, when she can intimidate the residents."

Bella listened, watching his eyes, now a dark ochre, thinking of his cold hands, and that night they'd gone swimming.

Thinking of the stories that Harry Clearwater had told.

"Why'd you come?" she asked him.

"How could I not, Bella? You—" he paused. "I'm sorry. I never thought the money I left you would cause problems."

"You left it for me?"

"Of course." He said it like it was obvious.

Her face fell.

Then he pulled in a breath. "No, not like that. It's just, you had nothing, Bella. I wanted you to have something, if you needed to leave, if anything happened with the Blacks."

Her expression changed, relief, understanding, and surprise all vying for space in her eyes.

He kept talking, almost as if he wanted to fill the space before she could. "The lawyer who removed you from the detention centre can help you—" He held up his hand to let him finish, her open mouth closing again. "I know who your father was, Bella, but you should never speak to a police officer without an advocate. Not when there are charges against you. That BIlly Black let you—" he grimaced, and clenched his jaw, holding back his recriminations.

She had so many questions, but they disappeared suddenly. She had no right to them. He'd saved her. Twice.

"Thank you. I owe you—"

"Nothing. You have no idea how true that is. I owe you."

How he could possibly wrangle this conclusion from what had transpired, she had no idea. She buried her confusion in an observation that wanted explaining.

"You don't seem to like the Blacks." Her voice was small, as she uttered this, and she twitched the bedsheet between her fingers, not looking at him.

"They haven't done a very good job of taking care of you." The neutrality in his voice was strained.

"It's not their fault."

She heard his huffed out breath. "I didn't entrust you to them so I could collect you from jail. And then have to take you to the hospital."

This too, was not their fault.

He seemed to realize this, because his voice softened, "Why did you stop eating and drinking?"

She pulled in a shaky breath and then let it out, swallowing. Looking for some water, she found it in his hand, held out to her. It was uncanny, his intinution. Taking it, she had a small sip, and put the cup down carefully on the table.

Running through her mind was the question: who is he to me? Really? A man of unearthly beauty and wealth who seems to feel he has some obligation to my wellbeing. Has said he owes me. All things that are too good to be true. If they seem that way, they likely are.

So she answered honestly, knowing the truth would likely end whatever this was between them.

"It was safer," she said finally.

"Safer than what?" he demanded.

"Hoping," she shrugged. "Enduring more." She'd retrieved her eyes from his face, settling them instead onto the safer territory of her nervous hands.

"No," he said, voice almost quavering. "You are not allowed to give up. You are so young, and you have so very much of a long and good life ahead of you."

This seemed so laughable at the moment that she did, but only briefly. Tears capped her efforts.

"Why do you care?" she asked. "I was—you bought me. You've been...more than kind, and I don't understand why you feel obliged to me—but I'm so not worth your time. I mean, look at you."

"Look at me?" He barked out a laugh. "Yes, I suppose you would see that." His face became gentle again. "I have nothing compared to you. Look at yourself," he challenged her. Then he stood abruptly. "Billy will be here soon," he said, "and his son," he added, with the barest hint of a sneer.

"Wait," she said, panicked and ashamed at the feeling, seeing him start to go. "I never thanked you, for Sally—"

"It was nothing," he murmured, "of course I did. They're all free, Bella. Their keepers are in jail."

Her eyes widened.

"You'll see me," he said, and then walked from the room before she could say or ask more.

His timing had been impeccable. She watched Billy appear in one of the side windows, and then Jake, behind him. After talking with the nurse, they entered.

"Bella," Billy breathed worriedly, "you look so much better."

"I am," she said. She wasn't sure what else to add to this, so asked the one logical question that'd been bothering her, "where've you been?"

There was an awkward sort of pause, where Jacob's weight shifted. "Sorry," he said, "I um, had some...stomach troubles. It took a while."

It was so normal. So clearly Jake, that Bella laughed, "sorry Jake, but your guys' cooking sucks. No wonder."

Billy and Jacob chuckled. Nervously. Like they were relieved.

"Can we go home?" Bella asked, anxious to be away from the hospital. Away from the powers given people in uniforms.

"And subject you to more of my cooking?" Billy joked. "No, not tonight. Tomorrow, OK?"

Bella couldn't bring herself to even smile nervously, a solid frown wrinkling her face, as she looked outside at the nurse, who was still shooting her own scowling glances towards Bella's room.

"OK, but you'll get me tomorrow?" she asked.

"Oh no," Billy said, "we're staying here."

The thought of them so inconvenienced and uncomfortable made her squirm. "But there's nowhere for you to sleep. I'll be fine. I'm sure—"

"No offense, Bella, but I'd rather stay, and make sure you're OK myself." He held up his hand, preventing further protest. He made himself comfortable in his chair, jacket tucked up by his head for a pillow.

Jacob actually looked cozy on the floor, or at least his snores seemed to suggest it.

Bella didn't sleep much, between twitching at their noises, and then puzzling over what Edward had said.

When they left to get breakfast, assuring her they'd be back in an hour to take her home, she was too tired to object, slipping into a fitful nap.

It was a very soft rustling of paper that woke her up.

She blinked, and found Dr. Carlisle Cullen standing at the foot of the bed, eyes busy with her chart.

"Sorry," he murmured, seeing her look. "Tried to be quiet."

"It's OK," she yawned, sitting up, pushing her hair out of her face.

He frowned, seeing the dark scrape on her forearm. "Can I see that?"

She held her arm out, and he took it lightly, just brushing at the skin that was starting to puff by the abrasion. "That's getting infected," he murmured. "How'd that happen?"

She wasn't sure how much he knew, and she didn't want to enlighten him anymore than she needed to. "Um—"

"Did this happen when you were incarcerated?" he asked, sparing her the decision.

She flushed, and shook her head.

"OK," he said, "can you tell me how, please? I just need to know to make sure we treat you accordingly."

"I didn't go willingly, with the police," she mumbled.

"I see," he said. "I think we can rule out a hepatitis shot then."

"Good," she said. She hated needles.

"I did wonder why Sheriff Barclay asked for my son's contact information, though," Carlisle said, sitting on the edge of the bed, checking her IV site, smoothing down the tape a bit.

His hands were cold too.

Maybe a family trait.

Like the eyes that seemed to bleed from one colour to the next.

"Is anything else hurting?" he asked, eyebrows pulled together. The 'anything' was emphasized.

"My ribs," she mumbled, tilting her head towards the affected side.

"May I?" he asked, moving his hands towards her shirt.

She nodded, and he lifted it up, revealing a blotchy spread of bruises running down her side.

Catching his look, she said, "happened the same time as my arm."

"Which was?"

"Friday."

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" he asked, still looking at them.

She tried.

"A deep one," he asked again.

She tried.

His frown deepened, but he replaced her shirt.

"OK," he said. "I want an x-ray, just to make sure we're not dealing with anything else." Then he stopped, thinking. "Which will have to wait."

"Why?" Bella asked, finding his turn-around in decision odd.

"At least until your bloodwork comes back."

A chilling nausea roiled in her stomach. "Right."

"It'll only be a few more days, and its very unlikely Bella, given what you told me. It's just a precaution."

She nodded.

"Topical antibiotic ointment for the cut three times a day. Anti-inflammatories for the ribs."

The thought of pills made her stomach clench, but she didn't say anything. It wasn't like he was going to check on her taking them. Or make her.

"Then I'd like you to follow up with—do you have a regular doctor yet?"

"No."

"Can you come to the clinic in a few days?"

"Sure."

As he finished his notes, she wondered if Edward had told him anything about her, then chided herself for even thinking of it. She wasn't sure what she was to Edward, but she doubted it was anything he would want to discuss with, let alone take home to his parents.

Carlisle was looking at his notes in a way that told her he wasn't really reading them, more seeking an opportunity to say something else.

"Bella, can I ask you something?"

Definitely something else.

She doubted he'd listen if she said no, so she shrugged.

"Do you want to keep feeling the way you do?"

No. Definitely not. But what would he do with that?

He might help, a little and almost inaudible voice suggested. Maybe.

"No," she choked out, tears watering the word.

Putting the clipboard down, Carlisle sat beside her, and listened, as this one word became others, and Bella poured out the grief she'd so efficiently kept in.

- 0 -

"Well you'll excuse me if I'm a little hesitant, considering the last visitors we had," BIlly said, eyeing the well dressed lawyer on his porch, fingering his card. Bella recognized the man as the one who'd collected her from the detention centre.

"I can imagine. I have the paperwork here."

"Sure," Billy said, "Can I see it?"

Jason handed it over. Bella could see, even from her vantage point at the kitchen table, that it was printed on heavy paper, Billy's hands fingering awkwardly through it.

This fatherly figure turned his head back to speak to her. "You have any objection to having a lawyer, Bella, for free?"

"Free?" she asked. There was no way he was free. Had Edward—?

"I'm not, technically, free, Mr. Black. My fees are paid for through a charitable foundation. Your case is being sponsored by the Washington State Fraternal Order of Police.

She'd never heard of it before.

"Bella?" Billy asked again.

"Sure," she said cautiously.

Jason nodded. "May I come in? There's some paperwork to sign, and some good news, too."

Settled together over an assortment of coffee for the men, and water for Bella, Jason finished with the basic paperwork.

"The good news is that the March's have dropped all charges."

Bella breathed out her relief, then sucked some of it back, asking, "how?"

Jason looked at her. "I understand some evidence came to light suggesting there'd been some similar circumstances with other foster children, and that there was other criminal activity in the home."

She nodded. No surprise there.

"The possession charges from the bag found here have been dropped. One of the other women verified that it wasn't you that put those pills there. She said someone named...Jim, put them there."

It was Billy's turn to breathe out here.

"But the group home charges remain. The supervisors there are adamant, and have both sworn statements."

"That's because they're running the drugs themselves," Bella said, "and using the boys in the house to do it." She folded her arms, frustrated, but not surprised.

"Are you willing to testify to that?"

Could they touch her here? She wasn't sure, but if—and she thought of Sally, or someone else, sucked into her circumstances. "Yes." It trembled on the way out, but it was loud enough.

"Good," he said. "I'd like to avoid having this go to trial, but you need to mentally prepare for that eventuality. Do you think anyone else would be willing to testify, from there?"

"I doubt it," she said. "They're pretty cowed. I don't blame them. I would be, too, if I was still there."

Billy looked like he wanted to reach out a hand to her, but didn't, keeping them squarely on his lap.

Jason nodded, making more notes.

"From what I can gather, there are few willing witnesses from the prostitution ring."

Bella flinched.

"Sorry," Jason muttered. "It's what it was."

She nodded. It was.

"The police asked if you'd be willing to testify in that case. It's up to you, of course."

Here she closed her eyes, trying not to think about the frightening people she'd encountered there. These words were much more quiet. "If they need me to, yes."

More scratching of the pen.

"Alright," he said, shuffling his papers into a neat pile, and tucking them into a folder. "I think that's it for now. If the police ask to speak with you again, you tell them 'not until I have my lawyer present.' Got it?

Billy answered for her. "Boy do we ever." But he looked at her too, seeking confirmation.

She swallowed, nodding.

"Oh," Jason said, "right. Two more things. One, you can't leave the country—that's standard. Two, this for you, from Mr. Cullen." He placed two boxes on the table in front of her. One was large, flat and rectangular, and the other a third of its size.

"Wait," Billy said, "I thought you were being provided by the—" and his face squished together, searching for the name.

"The Washington State Fraternal Order of Police," Jason smiled. "Yes. Quite a mouthful. Mr. Cullen helped connect the file with them. Their charter doesn't allow for material donations, but he felt that this was important to the success of your case."

He pushed the packages across the table.

Billy looked at both darkly.

"He asked to make sure you knew how to use them." He lifted his eyebrows encouragingly towards Bella.

She opened the small one first.

It was a cellphone. Top of the line, sleek and silver.

"It comes with a prepaid plan, I believe. Do you know how to use one?"

"Yes," Bella said, trying not to smirk.

"Sorry," Jason smiled, "not everyone does. This one might require a bit more instruction."

It was a laptop. This too silver, and brand new.

"In case you want to do any research related to your defense, or for your general use."

"It's too much," she said, shaking her head, sliding it back across the table.

"I can't take it back," he said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Billy asked, looking disgruntled.

"I can't accept anything from a client, when charitably employed."

"But you gave it to me," Bella said, eyebrows up.

"I can give things, yes, but I can't receive them. Sorry. You can return it to him yourself, though, if you're so inclined."

She sighed in exasperation. "I don't know how to reach him."

"His number, and mine, are in the pre-programmed numbers. In case you require assistance." Then he raised his eyebrows, with a polite smile. "Is there anything else, before I go?"

Both of them shook their heads.

"My offices are in Seattle, but I'm out on the peninsula at least once a month on business if you need to meet."

He stood and shook their hands, and then saw himself out.

Billy scowled at the laptop on the table.

"I'll return it to him," Bella mumbled, seeing this.

"No," he said. "Don't. Sorry. You should have a computer for school. And ours is," he sighed, looking over to the table in the living room, "well, you've seen it."

She had, and Jacob's frustrated mutterings trying to get it to work. Maybe he could use this too.

She wondered if it would smell bad to him as well.

What was up with that?

Then another set of thoughts registered.

"Actually, do you mind if I use your modem?"

"Be my guest," Billy said. "I'm actually off with Harry in a bit. We should get you set up at school, though, if you're still keen?" His face twisted a bit. She'd told him of her intention, but that was before the police had dragged her off.

"No, I will. I'll...go later today. Actually, I need to get some more clothes." Here she grimaced, there were few places in Forks to buy anything clothing like. "Where—?"

"Oh, don't even bother around here. Port Angeles is probably your best bet." He peered outside, "not a bad day for a drive that way. Jake checked your truck while you were….away," he said.

"It's OK, Billy," Bella smiled, in a very small way, "you can say jail. Cop kid, remember?"

He chuckled a little. "You have your dad's sense of humour, for sure."

Once Billy left, Bella gingerly put the laptop down on the small living room table, hooking up the modem to what she hoped was the right port.

She spent a solid hour reading through anything that referenced the Quileute legends. There was little, and most of it referred to one book she couldn't find online. It was listed in stock at a bookstore in Port Angeles, though. Convenient.

If she timed it right, she could get her registration complete at the school before the other students let out for the day, and then get to Port Angeles. BIlly had said it was about an hour there. She could be back around dinner time.

She scribbled a note, leaving it on the kitchen table, and then, new phone in hand, walked out the door and to her truck.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.