AN: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

Four years. Four bloody years ago he'd shaken Carlisle's hand and started living this life of depravity. Not that his existence was the epitome of morality to begin with, but he'd gone to church, at the very least.

Not any more, though. Sunday mornings were busy for him. He had to wait for people to come out from church.

This was his favorite time of the week to complete a job, if the word "favorite" could even be used. More like, "Least likely to cause extreme self-loathing." Sunday morning, just as the clock struck noon. He got to people just after they had made peace with their maker. It gave Edward a sense of calm, and allowed him to go through with what he was about to do.

Four years since he'd gotten his first list and stared at the names written on the paper. It had begun with just three – three people whose life's path he was going to dramatically alter in the span of a few minutes.

His first few jobs had been sloppy at best, but Carlisle had been patient with him. Carlisle became his mentor, coaching, teaching, and advising. If it had been anyone but Carlisle, Edward didn't think he would have survived very long in this particular field of work. Edward still remembered his first job, and how he had come within a hair's breadth of botching it up. How he had just stood there as Gregory Martin – he'd never forget that name – begged for his life, begged for some mercy, for just one last chance to go home to his

"…three year old baby girl. Sh-she's just speaking now. Late bloomer, the doctor said, but she was just saving it, yknow? Wanted to take in as much of the world as possible before voicing any opinion on it. She's beautiful, see?"

Gregory reached for his back pocket, and Edward's grip on his revolver tightened. Gregory noticed this and immediately frozen. From his position on the floor, he looked up at Edward.

"It's just a picture," he whispered, words dripping with desperation. "I just…want you to see her."

Edward shut his eyes, trying to suppress the nausea he had been feeling for the past hour. It increased tenfold at the sight of this man, not yet thirty-five, on his knees, pleading with him to show a picture of the life that he and the woman he loved had created.

Lips pressed tightly together, Edward nodded his head, granting him permission.

Fumbling with his wallet, Gregory flipped through business cards and various other photos until he reached the one he sought. With a trembling hand, he held it out to Edward, and, against his better judgment, Edward took it.

"Stephania. Stephania Anne. My wife is Greek – Stephania was her grandmother's name."

Edward looked down at the photo and saw a beautiful little girl in front of a Christmas tree, arms wrapped around a present nearly as big as she was. Her chestnut hair was tied in pigtails, adorned with red ribbon that matched the trim on her festive dress. Her mouth was open, mid-laugh, displaying her first set of teeth that had just come in. Stephania.

"This is last Christmas?" Edward asked.

"Yes."

"What's in the present?"

"What?"

Edwared swallowed hard. "What's in the present she's holding? The big one. It's big."

"Oh – it's a dollhouse. Sh-she wanted a dollhouse last year."

"Has she outgrown it yet?"

"No, not yet."

"She will."

"I know," Gregory said solemnly, staring at the floor. He paused before adding, "I want to be there when she does. Please, man, please?" Gregory looked up at Edward once more. Damnit, why did he have to have a kid? Why did she have to be so goddamned beautiful? Edward bet Gregory's wife was gorgeous too, that she was homecoming queen in high school and a cheerleader in college. But she was smart, too. She was one of those classy broads who didn't go to university just for her MRS degree. She was probably a librarian or a school teacher or a – damnit, why him? What did he do?

"Listen buddy, you know I can't. It's my job. You have to underst - "

Gregory interrupted him, now hysterical, screaming through his violent sobs.

"She needs her daddy! Goddamnit, she needs me! And my wife, Kristina, she needs me too. She needs someone, she can't raise Stephania alone! I don't want her to be with anyone else, she's my wife! I can't leave her alone. I can't force her to find someone else. I can't put them through this, don't you get it? Fuck you, man. FUCK YOU! Let me go home to my kid! Let me see my wife just one more time. Kill me tomorrow, I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just let me say goodbye. JUST LET ME SAY - "

Edward lowered the still-smoking gun to his side, and after a moment returned it to the holster inside his leather duster. Gregory Martin's figure lay spread-eagled on the office floor, unmoving. Dead. Edward had shot him in the heart. His family could have an open casket.

Edward tossed Gregory's wallet next to his motionless form and it landed open to Stephania's picture. This was the last straw for Edward; he turned around and emptied his stomach's contents into Gregory's wastebasket. After his body had expelled all it had, Edward dry heaved until he felt close to passing out. He gathered his wits, gathered the wastebasket, and walked out the door. No evidence, no crime.

Four years. Fuck. He deserved a gold watch.

***

Edward dropped his chopsticks onto his half-empty plate with a clatter – there went his appetite. Solemnly, he stood up, tossed the newspaper carelessly onto the table, and made his way back to the kitchen. He placed the dish in the sink where his cleaning lady would be able to find it tomorrow morning. He hadn't done dishes in about seven years; four years since he had moved to the states, three years before that when he had neither plates nor food with which to soil them.

Shedding himself of his layers as he walked, Edward headed to the bedroom. He left his clothes where they fell; just another job for Marta in the morning. He flicked on the lights and took a moment to bask in the tidiness of his chamber. Everything from the standing lamps to the red satin sheets exuded style, and that was the way he liked it. He crossed the room to turn on his bedside lamp, then crossed back, hopping comically as he removed his socks, to flick off the main switch. Now down to just his pants, he ambled lazily to the bed and folded up a corner of the crisp, cold sheets. Perched on the edge of the bed he slid out of his pants – he disliked wearing underwear – and lay down with a sigh. Edward reached over, turned off the lamp, and slept the sleep of a very tired man.

AN: Please review, and let me know what you think.