Can I tell you how great I think you all are that you are being so kind on this story. It is a little heavy, and there is the whole praying thing, and yet you are all being so nice. I want to thank any and everyone for their story discussion and for the constructive criticism. It is a great help.

Hey, did you see there is a new movie coming out about Jane Austen? It is called "Becoming Jane" and stars Anne Hathaway. It looks like her romantic lead is Tumnus from the Chronicles of Narnia. It might not be him, it just looked like him. Anyway, I am excited about it.

Have you read the Eclipse quote of the day today? It is by Edward, and I don't know why, it just put butterfiles in my stomach. I love him so much.

I am sorry for all of you who said you liked long chapters, this one is short. But if you pay attention, there is a lot in here to absorb. You all Rock!

This chapter starts off exactly where the last one left off, she went to sleep thinking about Edward . . . . .

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I was standing on a street corner I had never seen before. I could hear a piano softly playing in the distance. It was beautiful. It played a tune that was somehow familiar, as if I knew what the next note would be.

A boy was selling newspapers on the corner. I was looking at him, and I was puzzled to realize that boys hadn't sold newspapers that way for many years. I heard footsteps behind me, and I turned to see a man run past me hurrying to a crowd of people. As I took a step toward him, the piano notes became louder and more insistent, so I followed.

As I got closer to the crowd, I realized these people were all wearing clothes I only saw in very old photos. I saw a horse pulling a carriage come down the street. It slowed when it saw the commotion, and then hurried on.

Everyone was gathered, looking at something. Many were shaking their heads, some had their head in their hands. The crowd was growing bigger, and I strained my neck to see what everyone was staring at.

Suddenly, everything changed. I was pulled to the center of the crowd and I was sitting on the ground by a beautiful bronze haired boy about 12 years old. He had a look of horror on his face. Tears were falling from his beautiful green eyes.

I looked down to see why he was crying. He was grasping a pretty little girl tightly to his chest. She had on a lovely white dress that was covered in blood and dirt. She was about six or seven years old with dark ringlets. Her body was twisted in a strange way . . . and she was dead.

I heard a woman scream, "Annie!"

I could tell the lady was pushing through the crowd, but my eyes were fixed on the lovely boy burying his face in the girl's hair. His tears fell into her curls as he chanted over and over again, "I did it, I killed her, It's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault.

I couldn't pull my face away from his tears.

Images were coming at me lightning fast now.

A man with dark hair and a mustache was beating the beautiful boy. While he hit him he was yelling, "You killed my little girl!"

The piano music was getting closer, louder.

Next, the boy was asleep. He was thrashing and twisting in his bed. He was muttering "Annie, come back. I'm sorry. . . Don't go. . . I'll keep you safe." He was breathing harder and harder, until finally he sat up and screamed, "Annie!"

The piano was playing faster.

The boy was now a young man. He looked thinner. He was stumbling through a dark filthy alley. I was following beside him. He was choking out the words, "Please come home. Please forgive me." He was talking to no one. He seemed to be searching for someone.

The piano music was so close now.

The young man, was kneeling at a grave. There were fall leaves swirling in the breeze all around him. He put his head in his hands. No sound escaped from his lips. I looked at the headstone. There were no dates inscribed. Only the words, "Beloved Annabelle".

There was one more scene. I was on the street where the little girl died. The wind was whipping through the street. Men were holding their hats tight against their head.

A carriage slowed and then stopped right beside me. The same young man stepped out of the carriage. He was older. His beautiful face showed concern and fatigue. He was flushed and there was a layer of perspiration on his forehead. His breathing was labored. He was dressed in black. He turned around and put out his hand to help a bronze haired woman out of the carriage.

She, also wearing black, turned to look at the young man so that I couldn't see her face. I heard her weak voice say, "He loved you, Edward. Never doubt that. It was you who brought him back to us. It is never too late to be redeemed."

There were tears in the corners of his eyes and I heard him say, "Mother, I am so sorry. I don't feel well, I think I caught it from Father,". . . and then he collapsed.

"Edward!"

I awoke with a scream. I didn't know who screamed Edward's name, the woman in the dream, or me. I could hear piano notes hanging in the air.

It was still raining hard outside. The room was completely dark.

The brief scenes in the dream came shooting back at me. I was terrified. I was sitting up with my blankets clutched tightly in my hands.

The boy in my dream . . . it was Edward. Edward was a little boy. He was holding a little girl who was dead. How did she die?

Who was that man beating Edward? Edward looked so afraid. That kind woman had to be Edward's mother.

Why would I dream something so strange? How could these images have come to me? My heart was pounding as I realized that there was no way I could have made up what I had dreamed. It had to be real.

I had just had a dream about Edward. I saw a part of his life I never knew. I saw him as a human. I saw tears in his eyes.

Were the images I just saw describing what Edward had been talking about, the ones that made him a monster?

I got out of bed. I was standing there in the dark confused and unsure about what to do, but I knew there would be no more sleep tonight. I began walking around the condo going over everything I remembered about the dream.

Did Edward have these same scenes going through his mind? Did he know what they meant? Was he confused and not able to remember enough about being human to make sense of it all? That pretty little girl, I remembered her name was Annie, was dead. . . my tears started to come. Edward believed he killed that little girl. Did he kill her? I wanted to hold Edward and tell him everything would be all right.

A few hours later, as the sun was rising, I began to calm down enough that I could think more clearly.

I felt strongly that the images I saw, were the ones that were playing over and over in Edward's mind. Edward was remembering the same images I saw in my dream, but he didn't understand them.

Did Edward have demons? Oh yes, he did. For all these years he had images and feelings he couldn't match up or make sense of. He was being tortured by a past he didn't fully understand.

Edward thought he was a monster because of these memories, but I didn't. I refused to believe that Edward killed that little girl. I was determined to find out what really happened.

As the sun rose, I realized that me, having this dream, was a miracle for a beautiful angel that so badly needed one. God, or whoever it was, had helped me this far, and I knew what I had to do next. I was going to Chicago.

Good job Shining Star for guessing that she would go to Chicago! Good luck Bella! Let me know what you are thinking . . . . See ya tomorrow!