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A/N:

Ack!! Is anyone still reading this thing?? This update has been about 1.5 months coming. See, I got it ready and then I went on vacation for 3 weeks, during which my beta Twilightzoner wrote back and said "you should work on this a little more." And... she was right. I'm glad I did, and I hope that, despite the wait, you will be too. Let's face it, this is the downside of reading a story which is being written in real time.

Alright, enough excuses. I do want to remind you guys that there is now a forum thread for this story, where I have been posting notes on chapter progress, as well as teasers to tide you over. Go check it out!

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Also! This story won the Indie Twific Judges Awards for Special Merit!! How friggin' cool is that?? I didn't even know they were having that award, so that was one hell of a pleasant surprise. Tee hee :)

Finally, thanks as usual to Twilightzoner and angelvamp, and special thanks this week to AerosolDoc, who helped a lot with putting this chapter together and smoothing out its various edges. You rock!

And so, without further ado... Chapter 11!!

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The line clicked softly, and the phone was silent. Edward put it back on the shelf, hand hovering over it for a moment. Taking a step back, he straightened a few of the neighboring books, looked around the room, then grabbed the phone again and let it fall into a pocket of his pants.

Okay... she had said "Okay." The answer had shocked him nearly as much as his own request. He hadn't planned on asking anything of her, but his tongue seemed to act of its own volition. Had he hesitated for a moment, really thought the matter through, he may well have said nothing. After all, Bella had made it perfectly clear, and on more than one occasion, that she wanted nothing to do with him. Yet now … she had said okay.

In the bedroom, he pulled a few twenty dollar bills out of an ornate wooden box in the back of the closet. Pausing in front of a full-length mirror, he caught sight of several smears of soot along his torso and, frowning, exchanged the white t-shirt for a black one. Scrambling along rooftops was a thrilling sport, but also a dirty one.

Slipping on shoes at the end of the hallway, he paused with one hand on the door knob, then kicked them off again. Back in the media room, he went over the shelves of films twice before grabbing a favorite documentary, figuring that, at the very least, they would have something to watch. Half-way down the stairs, he realized that the front door had been left unlocked, and bounded back up three steps at a time. Having finally left the building, he chose to play pedestrian, walking briskly through the deserted streets of downtown Chicago. A nervous energy fueled each step, propelling him forward even as reason sought to hold him back.

Was Bella even sober enough to understand what he was asking? And had he interpreted her answer correctly? Assuming so, assuming that he now had permission to return to her home, the idea suddenly filled him with dread. His previous visit had not been forgotten:; the panic in her voice, the way she trembled with each of his movements... He had patched her up, kept watch, done his best to diffuse her discomfort, and still she had recoiled from him. And going to the restaurant had been nothing short of magnanimous. Checking up on her, delivering the book and CD – he didn't have to do any of those things. True, the book had not been his to take, but he'd meant to put it back before leaving, so walking out with it had been honest mistake.

Yet Bella had thrown each olive branch back in his face. Her dogged refusal to see beyond the very surface of his nature angered him. Immediate grievances aside, nearly every hour of the last decade had been spent analyzing, wrestling with, and finally stifling his most basic needs, all in the name of compassion for humans like her. That deserved some credit.

After their confrontation outside the bar, he had not expected to hear from her again, but told himself that this was irrelevant. Two more suitable victims had been identified, so any further involvement on Bella's part was superfluous. He certainly didn't need her money – not only an expert killer, Edward had once been an accomplished thief. Having remembered what money was good for and how one might get it, he wasted no time in securing his financial future. Between the 1930's and 1980's, dozens of rare art pieces, jewelry and archaeological artifacts passed through his hands and into the black market. The profits were invested in stocks and real estate abroad under a series of false identities. Maintaining control of the money beyond the duration of a human lifetime proved as simple as faking an inheritance from one imaginary person to another. Now, after decades of compound interest, his net worth nearly rivaled the GDP of a small country.

The whole thing had been a hassle at the time – the workings of human society at once bored and confused him - but Edward learned enough to know whom to pay for the necessary documents and transactions. In fact, it was these ties to the criminal world which eventually enabled him to pursue his current profession. As a hitman, he relied on multiple conduits to spread his reputation and attract potential customers. That many of those customers ended up dead themselves was a potential wrench in the gears, so he cast his net wide to minimize the probability of any one contact putting the facts together. Contacts like Mike Newton, the man who'd brought Bella to his door. Newton was a small time drug and weapons dealer who knew next to nothing about Edward, other than his most recent phone number. He couldn't help but wonder how Bella knew a guy like Mike Newton in the first place.

The nearby blaring of a police siren jerked Edward out of his thoughts. He was well north of the Loop now, within a mile of Bella's house. It had taken thirty minutes to get here, but if he turned back and retreated at full speed, he could be home within ten.

Was she waiting for him?

"This is foolish," he muttered out loud, coming to a stop. He didn't need this. Things were better off the way they were. Life might not have been simple, or even fair, but at least he knew how to live it. This girl, this one human girl … she could ruin everything--destroy his carefully-crafted existence with one phone call. And there were millions, billions more out there; people whose lives were worth no more or less than hers. So why – why couldn't he keep her out of his thoughts? Why had he listened to those recordings over and over, until each word, each inflection of her voice became committed to memory? When had she become unique to him?

He thought back to the night he spent at her house. The unease he had felt in coming there was nothing compared to the storm of anxiety that whirled in his stomach now. When he first encountered her, asleep on the couch, a rare and uncomfortable sensation had stirred in him. Then, once he saw those books and realized that she knew the truth, panic and rage overwhelmed any other desires. He had wanted to kill her, had come so close to snuffing out that gossamer life... Yet now, he cringed at the thought of harming her. In fact, the act of tending to her injuries that night had brought on a strange sort of comfort that Edward was not familiar with. Even through the bloodlust, he remembered a sense of satisfaction in knowing that, for once, he was maintaining life instead of destroying it.

Staring at his hands in the middle of the street, he remembered the feel of Bella's hair through his fingers, the weight of her head resting in his lap. She had been unconscious, vulnerable, helpless ... and he had helped her.

Lightning pierced the sky above him, and on its heels, a clap of thunder shook the clouds. Fat, heavy drops of rain began to plop against ground, and within moments, water was pouring down in sheets. Pushing drenched hair off of his brow, Edward took one step forward, then another, and broke into a steady run north to Lincoln Park.

***

Turning onto Bella's street, Edward slowed to a walk again, wiping the water from his eyes. The rain had not eased much. Another lightning bolt flashed through the clouds, illuminating street gutters overrun with torrents of water and old leaves. At least the water was warm. Before he began to restrict his diet, the weather had hardly mattered – his body could regulate its temperature in all climates. Now, however, though feeding on animals helped to manage his hunger, it did not prevent the physical toll of malnutrition. These days, it seemed like he was always a little slower, a little weaker. The winter of '98 was the first time he had ever felt cold, shivering on a dark November night in nothing more than a t-shirt, dismayed by the discovery of yet another weakness. Although summer nights were the shortest, Edward was now as happy as any Chicagoan to see the winter off. Maybe someday, he would finally leave this place and go south, to Miami or New Orleans, or even Houston …

The house he sought was at the end of the street, next to a school. Walking down the block, he surveyed the neighboring houses, noting their dark windows with a habitual satisfaction. It was well past one in the morning now, and this was a residential area. Few, if any, of its inhabitants would be awake so late on a Tuesday. He heard nothing but the drumming rain drops, which thudded loudly against rooftops and sidewalks, providing a sense of privacy that eased his nerves.

Finally, he came to the brick, narrow house at the very end of the block. The front door was ajar, and there, under the awning of the front porch, sat Bella, holding a half-spent cigarette in one hand and a glass of clear liquid in another. She was bent forward, elbows resting on thighs, gazing sideways at the empty playground a few dozen yards away. An ashtray sat on the step below her feet, but the rain had turned it into a small puddle of ash and cigarette butts. Her toes and feet glistened in the light streaming from the foyer, and when another flash of lightning lit up the sky, Edward could make out each individual droplet that lingered on the pale, smooth skin of her legs.

The last thing he wanted was to sneak up on her again, so he cleared his throat before taking a step along the cement walkway that led to the house. Bella's face snapped forward, and she rose quickly, swaying a little on her feet. The cotton hem of her yellow skirt dripped with rain water, clinging to the outline of her calves.

"Hi," she said quickly, then took a long swallow from her glass and sat back down. The glass clinked clumsily against the concrete step.

He took a few more steps forward. "Hello. I … hope I did not misunderstand you in coming here."

She shook her head and stuffed the cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. The butt hissed, emitting a final wisp of smoke, and floated to the surface with the others. "No it's – it's okay."

He nodded several times, then walked quickly up the steps and to a far corner of the porch. "Uh – just a moment," he said, and began to wring the excess water from his shirt and hair. Squeezing out as much as possible, he shook his head vigorously, and brushed tangled strands of hair away from his face. Turning back to Bella, he caught the hint of a smirk playing on her lips as she watched him.

"You look just like Martin, doing that," she said.

"Who is Martin?"

"My dad's old German Shepherd. He used to shake himself out just like that after we'd hose him off in the yard."

He blinked at her.

"Well, I guess all dogs do that," she added. "Not that you look like a dog. Well, just then you did, but not really … " Drumming her thumbs against each other, she seemed nervous, uncomfortable, though her speech was clearer than it had been on the phone. He wondered how much she could have sobered up in the time it had taken him to get here.

He cocked his head to the side. "May I sit down?"

Bella glanced at his shoes, then at the two feet of space on the step next to her, then back to him. He stood close enough to hear her pulse now, and it quickened as she continued to hesitate. He scowled and was about to take a step back when she said "Sure, okay."

Scooting along the step until her hip pressed against the wooden banister, she dropped her gaze. She was still afraid of him, he realized with a now-familiar frustration. But, at least she was trying, instead of lashing out or running away. Sighing, he lowered himself to the opposite side of the step. Something poked into his thigh, and he leaned back, pulling the plastic DVD case out of his pocket. Instead of setting it on the cement between them, he held it out to her. "Here."

"What's that?" she asked, but made no move to take it.

He waved the DVD at her pointedly. Slowly, she unfolded one hand from her lap and reached for the case. As soon as her fingers grasped a corner, he released it.

"It is a documentary. One of my favorites. I thought that perhaps we -- that you may find it interesting."

"Oh." She emptied the glass she'd been holding and set it down behind her, studying the cover of the film more closely.

He sniffed the air. "You are not drinking alcohol."

"No," she shook her head. "Just water. Thought I'd lay off the sauce for now... "

He nodded. His long legs stretched well beyond the cover of the porch roof, and rain drops pounded into his already-soaked shoes.

"Do you mind if I remove these?" he asked after a moment, reaching for the laces.

"Go ahead."

He pulled sock and shoe off in one motion, and turned to set the soaking mess on the top step, adding absently, "I don't suppose it matters to have them out of the rain." Flexing each foot, he tapped his bare toes against small puddles on the stairs, sending ripples in every direction.

Bella was picking at something on her skirt. The pink t-shirt she wore hung loosely on her slight frame. Its short sleeves revealed a patchwork of thin, horizontal scars along her upper and lower arm.

"Why do you do that?" Edward asked, pointing.

She glanced down sharply, and rubbed her arm. "I don't know," she muttered.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. Bella shifted, drawing her shoulders forward. Cursing his apparent lack of tact, he fumbled for an apology that would not sound too contrived. "That was not – the right thing to ask."

She huffed once, eyebrows arched, but said nothing. He fought the urge to apologize again, and said instead, "It's just... Well, are you all right? On the phone, you were very... upset."

"Yeah. That happens a lot these days."

"Is it because of what I said before? In front of the restaurant?" This notion had only occurred to him on the way over, and it had not been a comfortable realization. He seemed to be developing a nasty habit of speaking out of turn. "If so, I apologize for my frankness."

"No, it wasn't you. Well," she gave him a sidelong glance, "actually, it was. But – it's true... what you said. Some of it, anyway."

He wasn't sure what she meant, nor whether he should ask for clarification. "Well, I won't pretend to fully understand -"

"You don't. Nobody does." She leaned forward to throw a pebble off the step. It landed softly in the yellowed patch of grass that served as the front lawn.

"Then..." he ran a hand through his hair. "Why did you call me?"

She frowned. "I dunno. I guess... I just wanted to." Sighing sharply, she added "This sounds really fucked up, but – you're the only one who really knows."

"Knows what?" he asked, feeling more and more foolish by the second.

"Everything."

At that moment, he felt very far from omniscient. "About Alice, you mean?"

She nodded.

"Then … you haven't discussed your suspicions with anyone else?"

"They're not suspicions," she said sharply. "And yeah, of course, I've talked about it. That's all I did at first. After people found out about how she died, I thought – God, I thought it was so obvious. That everyone would see it, understand what really happened. But... once the cops made their statement -" here she turned to him, the muscles of her jaw standing out in clear relief. "That was it; that was enough. Everybody just ate it up."

"That your sister died of a drug overdose, you mean? Rather than foul play?"

Bella nodded again, her mouth set into a disgusted grimace. "I stopped talking about it after that. People started looking at me funny. Some would pretend to listen, but then they'd act like I was some paranoid nutjob. Shit, my college roommate, you know what she said? She said I'm – I'm in denial. I can't accept that Alice wasn't perfect, that she made bad decisions. I know she made bad decisions! She stayed with him for two years, for fuck's sake, and now she's -" her voice broke on a sharp, ragged breath. "Nobody wants the truth. They just hear what helps them sleep at night. Fucking sheep." She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, fingers tugged tightly under elbows.

He stared at her, stuck suddenly by the sharp contrast of the pugnacity of her tone with the frailty of her form. Wrapped into herself, she appeared to be shrinking before his very eyes, as though the bitterness of the words were sucking the very substance from the body.

Something occurred to him then, an understanding he had been seeking for some time. "Ah. This makes more sense to me now."

Bella lifted her chin. "What?"

"Why you behave this way. Why you are so unpleasant to others. I had been trying and failing to understand your perpetual rudeness, but I suppose that if I were in your place, where no one believed my grief and convictions, I would be similarly ill-mannered and withdrawn. Yes, this clarifies a lot."

He looked back at her, quite pleased with himself. Yet, instead of concession or even appreciation for his insight, her face was a mask of surprise and anger.

"What the fuck?" she sputtered, and pulled away.

"What?" he asked, flustered. She was angry at him. Again. "Why are you upset? Am I mistaken, then? Was this always your method of interaction?"

"Are you serious?" she stared at him, wide eyed, but the outrage in her expression was giving way to something resembling mere incredulity.

He stared back. "Yes. What – what is the problem?"

She tilted her head and studied him. "You don't... talk to people much, do you?"

"I don't understand."

"Edward, you just called me rude, unpleasant, and ill-mannered in the same sentence. And you're wondering why I'm pissed off?" Her tone remained sharp, but she spoke each word with an obvious effort at patience.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, was I wrong?"

The patience vanished from her narrowed eyes. Arms crossed, she turned away to glare at the sidewalk and exhaled sharply. He fidgeted again, torn between the urge to justify his words further, and snatch them from the air to undo the conversation all together. Bella seemed to be struggling too, her lips twitching as though she were on the verge of saying something, but could not find the right words.

That he could relate to. He fought a sudden urge to reach out and steady her shoulder. "I believe you, Bella. About Alice."

"Why?" she muttered.

"Well," he paused, considering his words carefully, "your explanation seemed the most probable. I researched your case before we met again. This is my policy for all contracts. There was no outright proof, but the official explanation was highly suspect. Both of the men had been arrested for drug possession in the past, while your sister never had more than a parking ticket on her record. And the autopsy report-"

"Stop," she hissed.

He flinched back, blinking. He'd done it again, said the wrong thing. "I'm sor-"

"How did you get it?"

"Pardon?"

"The report? And their criminal history?"

"Ah. The Internet."

"You can't find that online."

"Not legally."

"What, so you're a hacker?"

"You could say that, I suppose," he admitted. "I know enough to keep an eye on the local police department. It has proven quite useful in the past."

Bella nodded slowly, the frown on her face easing somewhat, and neither of them spoke for a while. Edward's gaze flickered between the empty street and the girl next to him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her posture began to soften, shoulders loosening and arms sliding down to her sides. As the break in conversation stretched on, he shifted, searching for something to say. Another clap of thunder boomed in the distance.

It was Bella who finally spoke. "I Googled the ex-husband... Leonard Schwartz. There was an obituary. His death was reported as a hit and run... There were a few witnesses, but they haven't found the car."

"And they won't. I have no doubt that it was stripped for parts and distributed within hours of the incident."

"Huh. I just figured they'd drive it into the river or something."

"No, no" he shook his head, "if it were ever found, it would draw suspicion. The point was to make the death look accidental, though, in my opinion, the job was poorly executed."

She frowned. "Seems like they covered their tracks pretty well."

"Perhaps. But disposing of the vehicle requires outside contacts, people you become dependent on. The risk is neither trivial nor necessary."

A wisp of hair had fallen out of the tousled braid on the back of her head, and she combed her fingers through it forcefully. "That woman - his wife. She said you turned down the job."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Hers was the wrong motivation. Surely – " he turned to catch her eye " – that does not require further explanation."

"But you knew she would have him killed, you were waiting for it." Despite the challenge in her tone, she met his gaze reluctantly, still tugging at her hair. "You could have just turned her in or warned the husband."

"That would have been counterproductive. On several levels, actually. If I were to turn her in, I would need to prove how I came by the information, and either way, she would surely expose me. If I had warned the victim, even anonymously, it is doubtful that he could have saved himself. There are many, many ways to kill a man. Finally, if he hadn't-"

"You could have killed her first. Then she wouldn't have hired anyone else. They didn't both have to die."

"But how could I be certain that she would go through with the act? Perhaps my refusal would have discouraged her. That has happened on occasion. The only way to be absolutely certain that my actions are fair is to evaluate outcome, rather than intent."

Bella shook her head. "You're going about this the wrong way. The fair thing to do is keep innocent people from dying."

He pressed his lips into a frustrated line. "You still don't understand. I have no choice in this. If I hadn't allowed the wife her to earn her fate, had waited just a few more days before feeding, I may well have killed Leonard Swartz myself. Or anyone else who crossed my path at the wrong time."

As he spoke, Bella's heart rate had begun to climb. On his last words, her breath hitched, and she turned away, pressing a fist against her mouth. "Bella, I have no choice," he repeated firmly. Her pulse rang out in his ears. She sat stiff, motionless save for the tiny tremors that rippled the fabric of her shirt.

He looked down at his hands, which had tightened into fists in his lap. "Well, what would you have me do?" he finally demanded. "Starve? I cannot. These are the conditions of my existence – an existence I did not ask for and cannot end. As it is, I have stretched my body's tolerance to its limits, and it would seem that persistent hunger is my one reward. You may think me cold, calculating, impervious, but it eats at me. It eats at me!" He slammed an open palm against the step in between them. Bella flinched.

"I am a killer, and so I must kill. My one reprieve is the knowledge that, at the very least, I do everything in my power to act justly. To take lives with discretion. To act deliberately, in accordance with the moral principles I believe in. But perhaps," he went on, his voice hardening, "you have some better insight into my dilemma. Perhaps, after years of obsessive inquiry, there is something I have overlooked? Then tell me, what else am I to do? Damn it, what would you have me do?"

The last words were all but a growl in the back of his throat. Bella didn't respond, her face obscured by shadow. The air between them had grown thick and bitter; through the silence, it seemed he could feel the frantic throbbing of her heart in his own chest.

He rose to his feet. "Fine. In the past few days, I have done everything in my power to earn your trust, but in your eyes, I remain as monstrous as the men who killed your sister. Perhaps even more." He paused a final time, but when she said nothing to contradict the comparison, he shook his head and turned away. "You said you called me because I accept your circumstances. I will not stay if you won't accept mine." Grabbing his shoes, he stepped off the porch, bare feet pounding against the cold cement.

He was half-way to the street before Bella finally spoke, her clothes rustling as she rose. "Edward, wait –" she called after him.

His stride faltered, but he shook his head and continued walking.

"I'm sorry," she added, louder. "Don't leave."

He stopped. Her soft steps were almost perfectly in time with the stream of water dripping from a corner of the roof.

"Wait," she repeated, only inches behind him now. When he didn't move, she added "please," her fingers brushing against his wrist. The touch was fleeting, barely perceptible, but his skin prickled nonetheless. Breathing through the anger that had tightened in his chest, he turned. Bella stood with one hand poised precariously between them. It hovered a mere inches from where she had touched him, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from each fingertip.

"I'm sorry," she said again, starring at the space between their hands. Then she pulled her arm back, and tucked another errant strand of hair shakily behind her ear. "I guess – I guess I have no idea what your life is actually like."

"No, you don't," he replied, his voice thick with reproval.

She sighed and took a step back, nodding her head toward the porch. "Will you sit down?" she asked quietly. He didn't answer. She took another breath and added quickly "I'm – I'm trying, okay? It's just – a lot. A lot to deal with. But I don't -" she broke off and wove her hands together, fingers grinding and slipping against each other until the knuckles turned white. Then she pried them apart with a jerk. "You're not like them."

He let out a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding, and clenched his jaw so tightly that his temples began to throb. It was true. He was a better man. He knew it, had proven it to himself time and time again. Yet, in that moment, it was as thought the knowledge had been mere hope, mere wishful thinking; an aspiration forever out of his reach, until she, in saying the words out loud, had made it true for the first time.

Her voice echoed so loudly in his head that he couldn't say anything, could barely think straight enough to stand in one place. Blinking furiously, he watched as she ascended the steps and sat down, this time not pressing herself up against the banister, away from him.

"Sit down?" she asked again.

He stared at her for another long moment, then walked forward and sank slowly into the space she had left for him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The rain had finally begun to wane, replaced by a persistent wind gathering strength from the lake. It gusted through his wet clothes and hair, chilling every inch of his body, but he was grateful for the sensation. It rooted him back into place. He breathed deeply, allowed the humid air to fill his lungs to the brim, and held each breath until the oxygen was spent, the carbon dioxide saturated his blood, and he could not keep from exhaling.

In the corner of his eye, Bella shivered.

"How often do you need it?" she whispered.

"Need what?"

"Blood." She spoke so softly that, were it not for his augmented hearing, the word might have been lost in the trickle of rain along rooftops and street gutters.

He leaned back, running a hand through his damp, tangled hair. "Before, when I did not... restrict myself, I fed once every six or seven days. Now, some blood is necessary every two or three. Most frequently, I eat animals. Sometimes deer, sometimes cattle, or even dogs or cats."

"But... if you can live off animal blood, why do you -" she broke off. He waited while she swallowed thickly and tried again. "Why do you need to kill humans?"

"Because animal blood is not enough. I do not understand why, but some portion of my diet needs to be human. As it is, I eat too much of one, and not enough of the other."

"What about blood banks?"

He grimaced. "No. Whatever it is about the blood I drink, it must be straight from the source. A live source."

"So... how often?"

"Once every month is acceptable. Five weeks is a strain. Six is... dangerous."

Bella bit the nail of her thumb and turned to face the playground, where a swing rocked softly in the breeze. "You said you're hungry all the time."

"Yes, to an extent."

"Because you don't get enough blood?"

"Because I don't get enough of the proper type. Animal blood is a poor substitute at best. My body needs human blood. Waiting as long as I do between obtaining it causes certain – " here he paused, considering how much to reveal " – certain side-effects."

Bella turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her gaze. "It is – difficult to explain. I have never been to a physician, but from what I have read, malnutrition is the best analogy."

"Then how do you not get sick? Or die?" Her brows furrowed as she studied him intently. "Can you die?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "That is a question I myself would like answered. As far as I can tell, I have not aged perceptibly since becoming a vampire. I have been ill in the past, and the experience is very unpleasant, but it takes its course and leaves me unharmed. Nothing other than hunger appears to do any permanent damage, so I suppose that, if properly restrained, I could starve to death."

She appeared to mull this over. "What about, like, holy water and stuff?"

He bit back the urge to laugh. "What about it?"

"It doesn't harm you?"

"Find me water that is truly holy, and we can stage an experiment."

Bella fingered a thin silver chain that hung around her neck and disappeared into the collar of her shirt. "Okay then. Steak through the heart? Crosses?"

Even though she was frowning, Edward was finding it more and more difficult to maintain a straight face. The ridiculous ideas people had come up with for the illusion of security... "I have yet to encounter wood which could penetrate my skin. I suppose that, if sharpened to a fine enough point and accelerated with sufficient force, a cross made out of stainless steel or a similar alloy could effectively impale me."

"How about garlic?"

He couldn't help himself. "If I consume sufficient quantities -" he began with all of the gravity that he could muster. Bella watched him intently, her mouth slightly parted. For a moment, he simply stared back, caught off guard by the glimmer of her lips in the soft light.

"Then what?" she prompted.

He blinked. "Then I suppose it would give me a stomach ache."

She grimaced at his grin. "You're an ass," she muttered, but the corners of her mouth had begun to curl upward.

He chuckled softly, pleased with the joke.

"What about sunlight?"

His smile vanished. "Sunlight?"

"Yeah. Does it hurt you?"

"No," he lied.

"Then why have I only seen you out at night?"

"My vision is very sensitive," he answered quickly. "I have superior acuity in low light, but, as a consequence, the intensity of daylight is not comfortable, even with the darkest sunglasses. Thus, I prefer to be nocturnal, like most of my prey." It wasn't entirely a lie, but it was all he wanted to say about the matter.

"Huh. Bummer." Bella's expression remained thoughtful, but he was ready with the next set of excuses should she press the matter further.

"Have you always been a vampire?" she asked instead, fiddling with her empty water glass.

"No."

"Then you were human once? Like me?"

"Yes, just like you. But I have virtually no memories of that life."

"So how long have you been like this?"

"I cannot be certain. I have been a vampire for over eighty years, but it may well be longer than one hundred. My memory becomes more and more obscure the farther back I try to recall."

A corner of her mouth quirked. "You don't look one hundred."

"How old do I look?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Thirty? Give or take a few years? It's weird, you look different now than the first time I saw you. Almost … younger. Maybe it's your eyes?"

He fought the urge to squirm under her appraising gaze. "How old are you?" he asked instead, though he had long ago found out the answer. Born at Rush University Medical Center on August 13th, 1979, to Renee and Charles Swan.

"Twenty seven," she answered. "Well, almost. So, you don't remember anything about … before? When you were human?"

Edward drummed his fingers on his thigh, letting the patter of rain fill up the silence between them. "A deceptively simple question," he finally answered. "The short answer is no, not in the way that you imagine. But I am not entirely ignorant of my past. There was a period of several years when I began to remember certain events, but I had no control over the content of each memory, nor could I recall them at will." Seeing her confused expression, he added, "Think of it like a waking dream. Or a very vivid flashback which could come at any moment in the day."

"Wow, that's weird. Like amnesia or something."

"Yes," he said softly, staring at his hands. "That is exactly how I have come to think of it."

"Is that what this is about?" she asked, picking up the DVD he had brought. "Unknown White Male. I think I've heard of it, actually. It came out last summer, right?"

"Yes, it did. It is – " Suddenly, he was struggling to express himself. "It is very good. Very … insightful."

She studied the back of the case for a minute, then turned back to him. "Will you tell me something you remember? About being human?"

He swallowed. Of all of the questions he had expected to be asked, this one had never crossed his mind. Suddenly, his tongue felt dry and heavy. Excuses sprang forth: each memory was too short, he couldn't remember anything coherently enough, none were particularly interesting. But Bella was watching him with a softness in her eyes that he had never seen before.

He shifted his weight, shivering as a gust of wind swept past them. "I remember a camping trip with my father and some of his friends when I was young. My brother and I left our tent in the middle of the night to go swimming in the lake near the camp site."

Bella had leaned toward him, so slightly that she probably didn't realize it herself. The heat from her body enveloped the side of his face, his shoulder, his leg. He swallowed again, and kept his eyes fixed on the street in front of them. "It began to rain just before we got to the water, a thunderstorm like this one. We were frightened, but neither wanted to admit it. I remember how the lightning and thunder seemed so horrible, so monstrous … we were two small boys alone in a forest, about to enter dark waters where all manner of creatures might be hiding, waiting to devour us whole."

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"We went in, but only for a moment. My brother thought he felt something brush up against his leg, so we fled back to camp. Woke up the entire camp with our racket. My father was, as you might guess, less than pleased."

"Then you do remember it," Bella said. "Your human life."

He sighed. "Hardly. Like I said, some memories have returned, but they are woefully incomplete, and I cannot recall any others at will. This particular memory is one of the longest. It came two summers ago, on a night when it was also raining."

She considered his words for a while. "Do you know what happened to them? Your parents, your brother?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't even remember my brother's name."

"But you know yours?"

"No, actually. 'Edward' was something I chose to call myself when having a name became necessary. I have had others, but this is the one I prefer."

"Then..." she paused, frowning thoughtfully. "How can you be sure that he's your brother? Or that any of that even happened?"

Water dripped from the gutters of a neighbor's roof, and his vampire eyes could follow the descent of each drop. Over a hundred flew by before he gave an answer.

"I suppose..." he muttered, running a hand through his hair, "I suppose I can't. When that memory revealed itself, it was as vivid as real life, as though I were that little boy again. I knew everything that he knew, I saw and felt everything through him. If that memory is real, then I am certain that I once had a brother and went camping with my family. If it is not..." He trailed off, leaning his head against the banister, and watched the wind ripple through long puddles on the street and sidewalk. Then he shivered, wrapping both arms around his still-damp torso.

"Are you cold?" Bella asked.

"It... isn't a problem."

"No, you're cold. Look, you're covered in goose bumps." She stood up. "Hang on, I'll be right back." The damp hem of her skirt swayed with each step, grazing his upper arm as she walked passed.

"No," he said quickly, and she paused in midstride. "It's fine. In fact, I shouldn't stay much longer. There are things I need to tend to before – " Here he caught himself. Before the sun rises, he had almost said.

"Oh." Her brow furrowed briefly. "Okay. Well... thanks for this. I'll watch it soon." She picked up the DVD and tucked it under her arm.

"You are welcome." Standing up as well, he reached for his shoes.

Glass and ashtray in hand, Bella took a step toward the front door. "Listen, I –" she began, then ducked her head. "Thanks. For coming by."

"You are welcome," he repeated, feeling stupid, but not knowing what else to say.

"I guess..." she said, one foot on the threshold, "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yes," he nodded. "That would be … fine."

Fine? he thought to himself, tracing his way back to the main street. All you could say was 'fine'?

***

"You need to have a look at this."

thin folder landed in front of Special Agent Mark Britt, and he looked up from his computer.

"Good morning to you, too, Agent Carter," he said to the woman standing on the other side of his desk.

She crossed her arms, manicured nails tapping against the sleeve of her white blouse. "I'm serious, Mark. I think this one's important."

"I'm serious, too, Angela. Good morning. I would ask what you're talking about, but sounds like you're going to make me guess. What is it this time? Some cult of bored high school kids getting sick on pig's blood? A man who can turn into a bat, but only on leap year?"

She scowled and pushed the file toward him, knocking a stack of papers to the floor.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Take it easy, Carter." Pushing back his chair, Mark leaned over to gather the fallen paperwork. "I just cleaned this mess."

Ignoring his complaints, Agent Carter flipped the folder open. "Read," she said firmly.

He cleared his throat, frowning, and flipped through the file. "All right," he said, pushing it away. "You got me. I have no idea what a missing persons case has to do with anything."

"It isn't just a missing persons case. It's the tenth unsolved disappearance in Chicago in the last thirteen months. That doesn't strike you as remarkable?"

"Remarkable?" He frowned, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe. But not my jurisdiction. Look, we got another body in two nights ago, and I've been down in the basement for 36 out of the last 48 hours. Will you get to the point?"

Agent Carter snatched the file from his desk. "The point is simple," she said, waving it at him. "You're wasting your time with corpse after corpse when this is a real lead."

"What, you think vampires kidnapped this woman?" Mark scoffed. "Angela, I realize we're flying blind here, but don't you think you're grasping at straws? What makes you think – "

The shrill ring of his cell phone cut him off. Glancing at the screen he frowned. "It's my wife. Listen, I need to take this, my kid is sick."

"All right." Agent Carter tossed the folder back on his desk. "But if I were back on V- Crime, I'd make this my bedtime reading." She arched her eyebrows pointedly.

"Okay, okay. I'll have a look," Mark said hurriedly as the phone continued to ring. Agent Carter favored him with one more look before stepping out of the cubicle.

Flipping open his phone, Mark tossed the file on top of a growing pile of papers requiring his attention. Two more years on this dead-end assignment and he could finally move on with his career.

************

End notes: If you're reading this for the second time, hope you liked the changes :) Next, what's Bella's story, anyway? Who was she before her sister died?