CHAPTER 4

The waft of pancakes left hours ago and has now been replaced by the sweet scent of chicken and freshly baked bread. My stomach growls at me loudly and begs me to go down stairs and eat something. I've put it off long enough, I need to oblige it.

I unlatch my lock and pad through the house softly on my socks, taking note of the still clean, but empty rooms. I make my way to the kitchen where I find the criminal, chowing down a chicken roll, Rosalie nowhere to be seen. I contemplate turning around before he sees me, but he starts talking to me, which means he either has eyes in the back of his head or I'm not as quiet as I thought I was.

"I bought one for you too, it's sitting in the microwave."

"Umm… thanks, where's Rose?"

"He gulps loudly and washes it down with a guzzle of water, "she's gone to Port Angeles to make an offer to the old mechanic there, said she'll be back later… whenever that means."

"Typically… all day," I reply idly.

"Oh, before I forget, I also have this for you… Rose demanded it and I'm here to serve." He hands me a thick folder with a band wrapped around it, holding it together.

"What is it?" I ask, staring at it dumbly.

"Just read it. I'm going to go fix that garage door of yours if you need me for anything. Happy reading."

He walks out the back door and I sit where he vacated, collecting my chicken roll from the microwave on the way. I unwrap it and place it ready for consumption, then remove the thick band, then open the cover, revealing the first page. I pick up one half of the sandwich, and peruse the first page with keen interest while stuffing my face. It is a brief overview of Jasper Whitlock's life, complete with photo and ridiculous amounts of minor details that shouldn't even be included in a file like this. I skip past that stuff, not wanting to invade his privacy, and look at the photo instead. The man pictured looks to be youngish, but not in the teenage sense. I dare say that this picture is a few years old, but the youthful face doesn't retract from his ruggedness or those crazy good looks. He would have to be the most handsome person I've ever seen… what the hell is he doing talking to someone like me. I shake the self-depreciating thought from my head, not only is he a criminal, he hasn't seen a photo of me or know much about me for that matter.

I flick past the first page, skimping until I find a page with a small mugshot attached. The photo is likely the most recent one taken of him, and time has definitely done him favours between the timeline of the two photos. I read the report the mugshot is attached to. Jasper Forrest Whitlock, born 17th of May, which makes him a Taurus, arrested 16th of June. Sting operation, informant, Aro Volturi, gave up supplier for down-graded charges, evidence locker, photos, prints, witness statements, bank statements, known accomplices. I skim over what seems like an endless overview of his case, and even if he was telling the truth, there doesn't appear to be a way to prove it, the evidence is pretty conclusive.

I flick through the rest of the booklet, wondering what all of it could be about, but it all has thick, black lines covering whatever could've been written there. It's the type of thing one would see on a T.V. show. I continue to flick, and I stop at a page with a grainy, black and white photocopied picture on it. It is of a squadron of seven soldiers, all huddled together, posing for the photo in front of an army truck. The faces are all covered, so I can't even tell if one of the men is Jasper or not. I pause, and just stare at the grainy faces for what seems like hours.

With no more lunch to chew on idly, I shake off my stupor and shut the folder, taking it upstairs with me. I lock my door, and sit at my desk, retrieving a pen and paper.

03/05/2016

To Jasper,

I find I am quite unable to stop myself from writing to you, and I'm still unsure how I feel about that.

I'd like to firstly say, that something has come into my possession that you should know about. Your file. I started reading the first page, but when it become clear that whoever wrote it up has put in way too much personal detail, I ceased reading immediately. Personal things should not be found out by reading a file. Don't make an appraisal about my character yet though, for I did keep looking through the folder and perused the documents on your arrest, case and trial. You say you are innocent of all charges… but I see why you are there and not here. The evidence is tipped heavily against you. You never really had a leg to stand on.

I'd also like to note that I seen the two-inch thick pile of paperwork on your time serving, not that it is legible, but I feel as though it would be remiss of me to not thank you for your service to our country and our freedom, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So, how did I come to be in possession of such an item, you ask? Well, your pal Emmett gave it to me today at lunch time at my sisters request. I haven't the faintest idea where he could procure such an item, but I promise to keep it safe until I can return it to you upon your release… how long were you given? I'm sure I could just look it up in your file, but it feels like I'm invading your privacy, so I will wait for you to answer for yourself.

Unsure and confused,

Isabella

I place a postage stamp on it, and leave it in the letter box to be picked up on Monday.