Victoria was the first thing that Emmett really opened up to me about, and the letters about her lasted for months. It seemed so easy for him. Maybe that's what made it easy for me. I thought it was the loneliness of incarceration and needing something to fill his time. I was sure I wasn't the only pen pal he had. It's a big thing writing to men in prison, usually on death row.

Nonetheless, I felt like we were always an open book with each other. I never lied about anything other than my name, even that wasn't very much of a lie. However, I also never gave away so much that he'd know who I was.

I never wanted to know what she looked like. I didn't want to know what kind of women he was into. I was afraid I wouldn't compare. Looking at her now, her pictures spread out on my living room floor. I can see why it was so easy for him to talk to me about her. She was striking. Her pale white skin and bright red hair. I'm glad he never asked for a photo, always insisting that looks didn't matter. He said a picture would only make things harder. I'd thought all guys in prison wanted something pretty to look at, but he said the sound of my voice and daily letters were all he needed.

"Can I call you sometimes? I'd love to hear your voice. Your letters aren't enough anymore. That's not what I meant, I mean they don't come often enough. I need a little of you spread throughout the day. I need the sound of your voice to pick me up, to hear it and know that you're out there, breathing, living. Will make the nights so much easier."

I didn't think twice about it. The next day I went and bought a pre-paid and sent him the number. I slowly become more addicted to his calls then his letters. Wishing I could pick up the phone and call him when I was having a bad day like he could me. I thought that talking to each other on the phone would give us fewer things to write about, but I felt our letters just got longer. One call a week became one a day then two a day. He'd always call right before lights out to make sure I was home and safe. I guess that's when I knew something was wrong. When he missed the first lights-out call.

Looking down at the picture of the two of them in my hand, it hurts. They were entwined with each other, her head on his chest, his face in her hair. It hurt to look at, to know that she had him first, that if she were still here they'd be together now, and it hurts to know that if Victoria were still here, my parents might be as well.

"I was 16 when I met her. I was on my first ride out with my old man. We were meeting up with the President of the Nomad Fangers. My old man wanted them to patch over to Forks. I remember seeing her the moment I pulled my bike into the shop. With her big red hair and green eyes, there was no missing her." He wrote telling me about the first time he met Victoria. "I turned straight to my pops and told him, no one gets her, she's mine. She saw me pointing at her, she giggled under her big red curls. I was done. I did everything I could for the next 4 years to keep her."

He'd tell me stories about how he'd drive all over the state to see her, her father was a nomad and they never stayed in one place long. Usually, because they caused so much trouble, they were ran out by the local police. It wasn't until 3 years later when her father let them marry after his past caught up to him and he went to jail.

I toss the photo of them on the floor next to all the others. There were so many pictures of the two of them in Victoria's police file, it made my stomach turn. I lay my head back on the couch and try to wipe the thought of them from my mind. I wonder if he knew, she'd turned on him, and his brothers. That she was working as an informant for my dad, to stay out of jail after he busted her for heroin. I just don't understand why my dad ended up shooting her, it doesn't make sense. Her file says it was a drug bust gone wrong, but if she was working with Forks Police. Why would she have run, why did she pull out a gun?

Did he know she had a drug problem? He never once mentioned it. He always talked about her like she was perfect. Maybe he wasn't as honest as I thought. Were we both only telling half-truths?

I pick up my dad's file. Like Emmett's file, there's a lot of information that was blacked out after the trial. The district attorney was set on the theory that Emmett killed my parents in retaliation for his wife's death.

The police didn't find any fingerprints on the bullets, Emmett did have traces of gun powder on his hands and clothes. It didn't matter thou because both my parents died from a broken neck. Shooting my father after was just insult to injury. My dad put up a good fight. I remember hearing it from my bedroom. It was what woke me up that night. I remember hearing the pictures crash to the floor, the sound of all the broken glass as they walked over it.

My mom didn't really know what was coming. Her file says he pulled her out of bed, most likely to get my dad's attention. Wanting my father to see her die, he snapped her neck in front of him. She was the first dead body I'd seen up close. Her limp body on the bedroom floor, where they disregarded her like trash.

I understood right away that she was gone, my dad had been a cop my whole life. As much as he tried to leave his work at the office, sometimes he'd bring home a document or two, and I always snuck a peek. Forks might be a small town, but we tend to be a bloody one.

Something catches my eye, the name on the bottom of my mom's death certificate. It says, Chief Uley. Sam wouldn't have been chief by then, the town has to vote. My dad had just died. There was no way he was already chief. I drop my mom's file and pick up my dad's, and Chief Uley is the filing officer as well on his. How had I never noticed that?

There's a quick knock on my back door, and then it's open. "Bella!" Jacob yells. What the hell is he doing here? Didn't I make it clear this afternoon that I didn't want to talk to him? I'm scrambling to pick up all the files, but they're spread out everywhere.

"What the fuck Jacob?" I yell as he burst into the living room, "What if I was naked or not alone?" His eyes go straight to the pictures now wallpapering my floor.

"Are you alone?" He's screaming, rushing from room to room like he would do when we were kids playing hind and go seek. "Is he here? Obviously, you know he's out." He says bending and picking up one of the pictures of Emmett of Victoria.

"No…He's not here, and no I didn't know he was out. I mean not really." Wait, how does Jacob know he's out. I work for the government, and I couldn't even get confirmation. "How do you know he's out?" I ask Jacob.

"Billy told me." Jacob hasn't referred to his father as dad or anything like that since he became the VP. "There's a lot of shit going on Bella that you don't know anything about."

Jacob stood in the middle of my crime scene wonderland, "what the fuck is this Bella?" He lifts the picture that he's holding in his hand. "Are you obsessed with this guy?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I think one might say I am but I think I'm obsessed with the man who's been writing me. Not the man who murdered my parents because I don't feel like they are one in the same, and right now I'm a little worried. He called me Bell in my note this morning. He came to the house where he killed my parents. He's here for the little girl he left behind, not the young woman who's been writing him.

"No," I tell Jacob and pulp myself down on the couch preparing myself for the blowup Jacob is about to have. "He was here this morning, he …"

"What the fuck Bella? The man who murdered your parents was here in your house this morning, and you just go to work like it's any other day and you don't tell Billy or me?" That vein on his forehead is pulsating. "Go upstairs and get a bag, you're staying on the res until we find him." Jacob yanks me off the couch and pushes me towards the stairs.

"I am not!" I'm a grown woman, a big girl, I carry a gun, and no man is going to tell me what to do. "Jacob I have to work in 5 hours." Even thou I didn't work the next day. "I'll sleep with my gun next to my bed, lock all the windows and doors and I'll call if I hear anything at all."

Jacob doesn't budge, "He's here for you. There's no other reason for him to be here. We ran all the other Fangers out of town years ago. Now, let's go."

"If he wanted me dead he would have killed me last night after you left." Jacob's face turns every shade of red I can think if from the crayon box. I'm not even sure if he was here when Jacob dropped me off but somethings it feels good to make him hurt. "or this morning."

I learned a long time ago the best way to get Jacob to leave me alone was to piss him off, the guy doesn't know how to deal with his anger. He's been running away from it for far too long, and that's what he does. Storming out the back door from which he came. I never hear his bike start, so I know he's not leaving and in some ways that puts me at ease.

I lay the rest of the way down on the couch and crash, tomorrow is another day.