A Twisted Tale Chapter 2: 102 Threats and Scares, a twilight fanfic

AN: Usually I don't have time for moe than one update a week, but I just couldn't help myself in updating this new fic a bit fast…

Updated 2010-05-25: Nothing major, just corrected a date that was wrong

Chapter 2 - #102 - Threats and Scares

.xXx.

#102

Note #102 was found taped to Edward's front door. There were no photos, poems or quotes this time, just a seemingly random sequence of letters and numbers scribbled on a post-it-note, CGF8760 BGP5578 164277 2906…. random to anyone but the intended receiver.

CGF8760 and BGP5578 were the license plate numbers of the two cars he owned but rarely drove. 164277 was the entry code to the garage underneath the apartments on the ground floor of his building and 2906 was Edward's own personal code to access the fifth floor through the elevator.

His stalker was getting closer, bolder and more determined...

.xXx.

"Name?"

"Isabella Bla-... I mean Swan"

"Age?"

"26."

"Prior occupation?"

"Police officer, Phoenix Police district, Arizona."

"Current assignment?"

"I'm a rookie. I just finished my training, 16 weeks in Quantico."

"First day, huh?," the man behind the main registry desk gave the female agent a bemused smile. He ran her ID through the system and had her do an eye and finger scan before he handed her a handgun in a holster and her registry papers.

"These papers give you the right to use your weapon in case of emergencies and immediate danger. They need to be filled out ASAP, okay?"

"Because God help us if I were to get trigger-happy before all the paperwork is done…"

"You catch on quickly! Welcome to the FBI, agent Swan. I think you'll fit right in."

.xXx.

Note #103

You thought your secrets were safe.

You were wrong.

It looks as though your past is catching up with you.

Now everyone will know and be disgusted,

I'll make sure of that.

Your blood is mine, you can not escape me.

Note #103 was found inside Edward's apartment, on a pillow on his bed. As if the written threat wasn't clear not enough, it was accompanied by some rather disturbing photos. Not the usual 'stalkerazzi' kind but a contact sheet of thumbnail images from a professional studio session, tagged with the words 'Kascade Studio, New York, 06052003.

.xXx.

06052003 - June 5th 2003 - a date forever engraved in Edward Cullen's memory. Funny, how six digits on a piece of paper were enough to spark such a blinding flash of panic.

Gasping desperately for air he stumbled, half blindly, into his car. With the envelope still crumbled in his hand he turned the ignition and then stomped on the accelerator.

In his hurry to get away he forgot to shift into first gear instead of reverse and the car leaped backward with a lurch. By the time he had managed to maneuver the car out of the garage and into traffic, his head was pounding worse than any headache he'd ever known. The burning sensation in his stomach grew, consuming him with fear. His chest was tightening painfully and he could hardly breathe.

He recognized this pain. It hadn't happened in a while but he knew the signs, he was on the verge of having a panic attack… either that or his ulcer was acting up again…

In spite of the cool air, sweat soaked the back of his shirt. He could hear his heart, thumping against his ribs, pushing up in his throat.

With his two sweaty hands in a white knuckle death-grip on the steering wheel, he fought with all his might to keep the car on the road. "I'm fine. It's nothing. I'm fine," he mumbled over and over again, willing himself not to freak out.

The relief he felt as he pulled the car to a screeching halt, next to Emmett's red Jeep Wrangler, was nearly overwhelming. Collapsing in exhaustion his body landed heavily on the car horn, making a loud, constant honk. He might even have passed out for a minute or two because the next thing he remembers is being helped out of the car by his brother.

.xXx.

Text message #302

Run and I'll catch you, hide and I'll find you, disobey me and you'll be punished.

So you think you can escape me? Think again…

You may not understand me but understand this;

You WILL give in to me, or you will NOT like the consequences.

I'll make you pay in rivers of blood.

.xXx.

Edward didn't like the feeling of waking up alone, especially not in a bed (or in this case on a couch) that wasn't his own.

It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and what he was doing there but as the memory of the previously day washed over him he quickly tumbled out of his makeshift bed and scrambled for his clothes.

It was hardly the first time he had spent the night on his brother's couch, but usually those occasions involved booze and lots of junk food and almost never ended in a full blown panic attack.

The whole experience seemed almost unreal now in the quickly brightening daylight; the open window, the suspicion that someone had been in his apartment, the red envelope on his pillow and his own almost hysterical reaction to it.

It felt like a bad dream, a nightmare, but it wasn't a dream, it was reality… It wa-… Just then his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise. Somewhere nearby someone was laughing and moving around. Paranoia immediately raced through Edwards' mind and lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

Don't besilly, he told himself, ignoringthe fear that clawed at his belly. Laughter was after all a perfectly normal, non threatening sound to be heard in a family friendly neighborhood around breakfast time. Nothing to be alarmed about…

He hesitated briefly, then squared his shoulders and set out to find the source of the sound. His brother had no doubt left for work already, but the rest of his family should still be around somewhere.

The sight that met him as he stepped into the kitchen had a somewhat calming effect on his frazzled nerves. He found Rosalie, his sister-in-law (in bathrobe, slippers and hair curlers), juggling a fussing baby on her hip while cradling a phone between her shoulder and neck. She was in mid-phone conversation by the sound of things.

"…I still say he should hire someone..."

"…."

"I don't know, a PI, a bodyguard, a hitman…"

Edward cringed inwardly, knowing exactly what they were discussing. Stepping further into the room he cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. Rosalie whipped around at the sound but didn't seem terribly surprised to see him. Instead of a greeting she merely pointed to her phone and mouthed 'Alice' with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Okay, no hitman. That was a joke obviously."

"…. ……. .. ………. ."

"Right, and besides the media backlash would be a nightmare."

"..."

"I don't know, but he's going to have to find somewhere else to live, that place isn't safe anymore."

"……. …."

Edward could only hear one side of the conversation but that was all he needed to surmise that his sister, Alice, was already up to speed on the latest development. No shock there. She was quite possibly the most curiosity-driven person on the planet, always sticking her nose in where it didn't belong and finding out secrets she shouldn't know. Her ability to sense things happening before they actually happened was uncanny to say the least.

Edward heaved a sigh and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he sought out eye contact with his nephew and made the universal sign for 'blahblahblah' with his hand. The small child sniggered in agreement… or maybe the boy was just passing gas, which would explain the burp that followed… either way the phone conversation seemed to drag on forever.

It was a well-known fact that when Alice got going she could easily talk for hours on end with little to no input from anybody else. Rosalie hummed and ahhed into the receiver every few minutes or so, but was clearly more interested in the food on the stove before her.

She was mixing up a batter of some sort and pouring what looked like vegetables into a frying pan. Edward had to give her props for her mad multitasking skills, but whatever it was she was cooking it smelled evil; like garlic and onions and Brussels sprouts. No wonder the boy was fussing, no one in their right mind would want Brussels sprouts for breakfast.

"Aw, man, that looks nasty. I feel your pain!," Edward cooed in a sing song voice to the child.

"I heard that!," Rosalie snapped with a hand over the receiver. "Don't be insulting my cooking, you dimwit!"

"Just stating the obvious," he retorted, throwing his hands up in a mock gesture of innocence. "Kids don't like vegetables."

"Is that so? I didn't know you were such an expert on kiddy food Edward," Rosalie smirked, thrusting the squirming baby into his arms. "Why don't you make yourself useful? There is formula and a spare bottle in the diaper bag in the living room, knock yourself out!."

"Eh, sure… Come here buddy; let's see if we can find you some real food! Veggies are for girls and wussies."

"Stop yapping, Cullen!," Rosalie half growled, half snarled, earning what sounded like a loud shriek from the phone.

Edward took that as a cue to leave the kitchen.

.xXx.

Security wasn't something Edward normally gave much thought to. Sure, nowadays he usually always slept with a baseball bat near his bed and rarely ever left home without a can of pepper spray in his pocket but that was pretty much the extent of it. He didn't carry a gun, nor did he have one in his home. If there was anything he had learned from his father, arenowned trauma surgeon, it was to value and respect all human life.

However, as much as Edward shared his father's viewpoint, he also knew that he was fast approaching the limit of how much abuse he could there even such a thing as a kosher, nonviolent way of dealing with a stalker? Turning the other cheek clearly didn't cut it anymore.

Getting the police involved had been like waving a red flag before a bull,but on the other hand ignoring the threats only seemed to add more fuel tothe already raging fire. He had held off making any drastic changes, simply because he refused to let this stalker person take control of his life, but at this point he didn't know how to handle the situation anymore.

Naturally he had already considered the idea of moving to a safer, security-guard operated neighborhood but he wasn't sure what good, if any, that would do. This stalker person knew entirely too much about his life, not just the basic stuff like his address and phone number, but intimate details about his routines, habits, social activities, interests, hobbies… Nothing was private or sacred anymore, not even his own home. Edward couldn't help but shudder at that thought. The stakes of the game had gone up… drastically…

Pushing the familiar wave of panic out of his mind, he tried to concentrate on the little boy cradled in his arms.

"I bet you're starving, aren't you?"

The child gurgled something incomprehensible and pushed a small fleshy foot into his almost toothless mouth.

"I hear ya! Let's find that bottle of yours!," Edward suggested as he put the boy down on the floor and began scanning the room for something resembling a bag of baby supplies. "Uhm, I have no idea what I'm looking for here Elliot so you're going to have to take the lead."

The boy stared back at him with what he was certain was great understanding.

"Where is your stuff Elliot?"

The child turned himself around and began crawling with speed and determination towards the playpen set up in the corner of the room.

"Not your toys, your other stuff," Edward laughed as he watched the boy head straight for his favorite toy; a pink, plush elephant in a tutu. "You're too smart for your own good, kiddo."

Scooping the boy up from the floor Edward tickled him till he shrieked with delight and for few brief moments all thoughts of privacy and security concerns were pushed to the farthest corner of his mind.

.xXx.

Rosalie waited until Edward was out of earshot before she injected herself back into the phone conversation by asking — rhetorically — 'Don't you EVER pause to breathe?'.

The phone line went silent for about a fraction of a second, before Alice threw herself back into her tirade. Rosalie paid attention long enough to register that she's been talking about of electronic surveillance versus in-person security guards.

"I really don't think heat detectors and night vision gadgets are the right way to go," she hurried to interrupt before Alice could go into a full rant. "And I doubt he'd let us post a guard outside his door."

"……"

"As a matter of fact I DO have an idea and a good one at that. "

"…. …. .. ………."

"When was the last time you spoke to that cop friend of yours? What's her name? That girl from Forks… the one Eddie used to crush on, Chief Swans daughter…"

"….."

"I know she's not a cop anymore, that's kind of the whole point. Those dimwits don't know shit from Shinola anyway. We need someone higher up on the food chain and this girl is supposed to be well connected these days from what I have heard…."

"……………………"

Five minutes later, Rosalie hung up the phone with a sense of accomplishment. She had always been a firm believer in networking and the power of having the right connections. Why do the dirty work when someone else can do it for you?

Pouring herself another cup of coffee she turned her attention back to the stove and the veggie stuffed pancakes she was making for breakfast.

She was halfway through frying her second batch of pancakes when a loud crash and piercing wail suddenly echoed through the apartment.

"He's a child not a football, stop throwing him around Eddie!," she shouted, only half-joking.

When she didn't get a response her maternal instincts kicked in full force. Putting her cup away she quickly followed the sound of her son's pitiful cries.

"Oh, there you are," she sighed, slightly out of breath, as she sprinted into the living room a few seconds later. "Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, we're fine. I made a sudden move that scared the kiddo, that's all," Edward muttered in a strained tone, rocking the crying child in his arms to no avail.

"Oh, okay… He's just cranky because he's hungry. He takes after his father that way. Did you find the bott-…," Rosalie trailed off mid-sentence when she saw Edwards cell phone crushed into pieces on the floor.

"Let me guess, another text message?"

Disclaimer

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

I do not in any way profit from this story and that all creative rights to the Twilight characters belong to their original creator, Stephenie Meyer.

The plot line though is my own brainchild, so please don't steal it. I worked hard to come up with it! (Really, I did.)