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A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for reading and reviewing!
Disclaimer: SM owns everything recognizably Twilight, and music credits go to Mr. Tom Waits.
Thanks a bunch to my beta Twilightzoner, who is awesome not just for sexually torturing poor Edward and his monster..
Enjoy, and please leave a review if you have any feedback!
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Light woke her. Bella cracked open an eyelid, her mind too muddled with leftover dreams to make any sense of the fact that it was morning. Bright sunlight streaked across the pine floors of her living room, and it seemed to set the wood aglow. Suspended flecks of dust floated slowly through each light beam, as if unfettered by the movement of air or the pull gravity.
Bella began to turn away, reluctant to let go of sleep so easily. She lifted one arm to shield her face from the light, but something was tugging it back. As she tried to flip over, she felt sharp pain shoot through the wrist she had been lying on. Her eyes flew open and she stared at her arm for a moment, not understanding what she saw. Then, she closed them wearily and groaned.
She had cut herself last night. Had gotten drunk and not even bothered to bandage up the wounds. The deepest one had broken open while she slept, blood soaking into the sheets and gluing fabric and skin together. These were new sheets, too.
She sat up slowly, wincing at a headache. Her arm was bleeding again, but at least it had come free from the linens. When she stood up, her foot landed on a stray grape and crushed it. She wanted to curse, but bit her lip instead, and pushed the pulpy lump aside.
In the bathroom, she ran cold water over the injured wrist, watching the tinted stream swirl into the drain. When the dried blood was washed away, she methodically folded several sheets of toilet paper and pressed them against the cut, waiting for the bleeding to stop. The razor from last night lay on a corner of the white porcelain sink, stained with rust-colored blood. Bella looked away.
Standing in front of the mirror, she stared into her own face. Large brown eyes looked back at her, obscured by tangled wisps of chestnut-colored hair. Tired eyes. Limp hair.
"This has to stop," she said to her reflection. "You have to stop."
But I don't know how.
"Go back to that man. Pay him what he asks. Get this over with."
It won't help.
"It has to help. You've tried everything else."
It's not right. And it won't fix anything.
"You've tried everything else."
***
Edward heard the heavy door to his apartment slam shut, and knew that the girl had left. He stood in a far corner of his bedroom, gripping the edge of a bookshelf with both hands, and grinding his teeth. His shoulders straightened incrementally at the sound of her departure, and after a while, he let his arms fall back to his sides. The smell of her blood had not followed him into the bedroom, but he could still feel it, simmering in the back of his throat.
He all but growled in frustration. That damned girl. He'd have to feed now. He couldn't risk going out among people after being so close to human blood. It had been too long since his last proper meal, and he'd been having trouble keeping himself in check as it was. Now, he couldn't trust going anywhere on an empty stomach.
Jesus, he was so hungry. All he needed was one body - a bum, a hooker, just one. Anyone...
No. (He slammed the palm of one hand into the wall for emphasis.)
He would wait. He was too close to success with the latest hunt, he reminded himself, and killing somebody else now would undo nearly six weeks of work. Besides, he had a busy night ahead of him. All of the rounds had to be made, on top of this latest inquiry. He had told the girl three days, and he had a hunch that confirming her story would take at least that long.
But he had to eat something. It would have to be another "salad" then - he grimaced at the thought. The last thing he wanted to do in the coming hours was run around the suburbs catching stray dogs and cats, but he really had no choice. There was no time to drive far enough for deer hunting, and anything belonging to the rodent family was simply out of the question. None of these would be a long-term solution anyway, but drinking some kind of blood would do enough to ease the danger for now. So he hoped.
He changed out of his habitual attire, slacks and a button-down shirt, into running clothes, and left his apartment, heading for the lake. Almost immediately, he caught faint remnants of the girl's scent among the various odors of the city- she must have come this way as well. He felt the aroma of her blood filling up his nostrils with every breath. Damn it.
He turned off the direct route then, the one that she had taken, and wove through city streets for a dozen blocks before coming to the bicycle path which traced the perimeter of Lake Michigan for many miles in each direction. It was an extraordinarily strenuous detour to make as he was forced to wait for lights to change among other pedestrians. When he finally made it to the lake, he broke into a steady run, setting a pace that was fast enough to fly past any people he encountered, but not so much so that it would draw unnecessary attention. As hungry and malnourished as he was, it would have been a strain to travel much faster anyway.
It would be a long night. He had destinations in three corners of the city, but no certainty that surveillance at any of them would be fruitful. Still, he would carry out the patrol, as he had most nights in the past month, and he would wait until the opportune moment.
His hunger was growing exponentially now, but he would not let it interfere.
Edward was a predator, and he knew how to stalk his prey.
***
It was Monday night, 9 pm, and Bella was at Edward's front door for a second time. She'd had to change her schedule at the bar to be here, and was all the more determined to come away with what she wanted. She'd even brought cash, though he had yet to name a price, and told herself that she would not leave until a deal was made.
She didn't have to ring the buzzer this time, someone was walking out of the door just as she came to strand in front of it. Inside the building, she began up the narrow staircase with steady, resolute steps. By the fifth floor, though, her pulse was loud in her ears, and she paused to catch her breath.
As she bent down to re-tie the shoe lace of one canvas sneaker, music began to play somewhere above her. There was only one more floor, and only one more apartment spanning it, so there was no mystery about where the sound was coming from. Single notes from a piano traced out a delicate melody, then the sound swelled as deep, heavy chords joined in. It was a slow piece, its higher tones rambling drearily among the lower ones. Weaving into each other with a morbid diligence, the notes formed a plaintive collection, as though resigned to their mutual fate.
She recognized the melody, but could not remember the song itself. It was sad, fatal.
She paused for a long moment to listen to the music, curious to remember how she knew it, but could not. Then, she continued up the stairs.
On her third step, the music stopped abruptly, and Bella realized that it had not been a recording.
There was a piano in his apartment? She had not seen one before....
He played the piano?
Well, never mind. It wasn't his hobbies that she was interested in.
Coming up to the thick, richly finished door of his apartment, she knocked on it loudly. Hurried steps were audible from within, as though rushing from one room to another. Then, they traced their way down the hall to the front door, and three locks sounded in succession.
Edward flung the door open.
"Hello," she said without a pause.
"Hello." He took several steps back, still facing her, then turned and briskly walked into the living room.
She followed him, and again they found themselves facing each other from two recliners, the voice recorder already blinking on the table between them. On her way into the room, Bella couldn't help looking around for the piano, and saw its black curves peeking out from a half-opened door that she had not noticed on her last visit.
Edward was flexing each of his fingers one by one. He looked different. His mahogany hair was strewn haphazardly across his forehead, and his eyes seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into his face. He moved strangely too, far less composed than she remembered him. Before, he had seemed as still as a rock, and it had unnerved her. Now, he was restless, fidgety. He wouldn't look at her for more than a moment before his eyes darted away.
"So did you - "
"I've been - "
They both stopped. Bella waited for him to continue.
"I've been looking into the matter of the two men," he began again. "As I said before, the connection to a police department is not ideal. But, I can do the job."
"Oh," Bella said, despite herself. That had been easy. "Well…good. Good. What about the -"
"The fee?" he interrupted. Now, he was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Five thousand each. Give me half now, half once it's done."
"So ten thousand…total?" It was easily half of what she had been expecting.
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"No. It's fine. Ten thousand is fine."
"Good," he said. Their eyes met again. Edward rose to his feet, and picked up the voice recorder. Bella took this as the end of their conversation and stood up as well. Then, she pulled the wad of hundreds out of her purse, and began to count. As she thumbed through the crisp notes, he began to pace before her. She arched an eyebrow and looked up to find him staring at her hands. Or was it her arms? Suddenly, she was conscious of the fresh cuts that now decorated her left forearm. She was wearing another long sleeved shirt, but the sleeve had ridden up when she had reached into her purse, revealing one of the wounds. She pulled the sleeve down roughly, and resumed counting the money, working much faster now.
He continued to pace.
"Five thousand," she finally said, and reached out with her right hand to hand him the money. He all but snatched it from her. "How will I know when it's done?" she asked.
"It won't be right away. I have another job to finish first, and I prefer to space my work out."
She frowned. "So how long?"
"A few weeks."
She crossed her arms. "You can't do it any faster?"
His own brows furrowed, as he stuffed the money carelessly into a pant pocket. "Look, this is how I work. You need to stop trying to control everything."
She flinched back angrily. "I'm not trying to control anything. I just want to know when you're going to finish the job that I am paying you for."
"I'll let you know," he said. "I have your number."
"But you said - "
"I'll let you know!" he snapped, and she clamped her mouth shut. He was flustered now, his awkwardness taking on a darker tone. Bella's stomach did a little flip, and she suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
"Ok." She stepped back toward the hallway. "Then we're done here?"
"Yes," he said, his tone a bit softer.
She walked to the door and felt his eyes on her back as he continued to stand in the living room.
"Bella," he suddenly said.
She paused.
"Your sister was pregnant."
She sucked in her breath, and turned back to face him again.
"I read the police report. That is why you're certain she didn't take any drugs that night, yes?"
He looked at her with inscrutable eyes. She bit her lip, and jerked her head down once in response.
They stood in silence again.
Then, he said "I'm sorry."
With one more nod, she turned and walked out.
***
Later that night, as Bella settled into bed, she found it remarkably easy not to think about anything. She'd had a glass of wine with dinner – a real meal for once – but was otherwise sober. No television, no late night reading to help the drowsiness along. Brushing her teeth, she felt a comfortable fatigue descend over her, and was looking forward to sinking into her pillows.
It was a very welcome change from her usual bedtime routine.
For once, her mind was not racing a mile a minute, not ruminating on or obsessing over things Bella wished she could forget. No, tonight was one of those rare nights when everything was quiet, and she just felt... still.
Sleep was approaching. Though she was still half awake, she began to dream. Strange visions arose, complete with a soundtrack - a deep, gravely voice that seemed to spin its words together into a crooked spider web.
In the back of his head...
...it was his devil twin...
Her lungs had slowed to a sleeper's pace, as each breath became deeper and more synchronized.
...she spoke to him,
things heard only in hell
What she saw was muddled and incoherent, but the voice and its song stood out clearly against the dream's warped landscape.
...hung himself and her,
from the balcony irons
Even in her sleep, she recognized the words, and strained to recall the the song in its entirety. It was becoming more distorted now, the couplets blending together into the unmistakable timbre of a piano. Suddenly, she could remember the rest. She stirred and awoke, the final stanza echoing clearly in her head.
Some still believe he was freed from her,
but I knew her too well.
I say she drove him to suicide,
And took poor Edward to hell.
