AN:I hate author's notes, so I promise that this will be short. So… I got a little excited that my story has 25 hits and one person favorited it. I know, I'm lame. But, my lameness led me to post chapter 2 today.

Edward

Riiiing. Riiiing.Riiiing.

God damnit. Who the hell could be calling me at 3am? I jumped off my empty bed – empty as usual – and grabbed the phone.

"Cullen," I answered, quick and to the point. This better be important…

"Cullen here too. Hey son, how are you?" my father, Carlisle, responded playfully. I immediately felt more awake and smiled. My dad was truly one of a kind. Dad is an ER trauma doctor at Seattle Hospital, one of the best out there. He takes his job seriously and his patients adore him. And they don't just adore him because he's ridiculously good-looking (is it weird that I said that about my father?). He's a compassionate doctor, and always goes beyond what is expected of him.

"Hey dad, I'm good. I was just sleeping, until I was so rudely interrupted," I said with a laugh, before getting worried, "Is something wrong? Is mom ok? What's up?"

"Oh, don't worry, everyone at home is fine. I actually have a bit of a favor to ask you. You see, a woman was brought in a few hours ago with some really bad bruising and lacerations on her left side. The police say it was a hit and run, but her friend seems to think otherwise. Something about a threatening note, I couldn't get the whole story because she was so hysterical. The SPD isn't going to investigate or provide any protection other than looking into the hit and run, since there's no evidence of foul play. I know there isn't much to go on, but something truly doesn't seem right. You know I can't send her home if I think something is going to happen to her. So, could you help me out?"

Carlisle's feelings are usually founded in something. It wasn't like I had much going on anyway. After college, I was a detective in Chicago for about 5 years. Last year, I decided to quit, move back to Seattle, and spend all my time focusing on piano. I felt bad living off my trust fund money, but it was too hard to balance a full time job with my passion. Plus, dealing with victims of crime and their families was starting to bring me down. My parents kept telling me that I get too personally invested in my cases, but I never took them seriously, considering how invested my dad gets with his patients.

Of course, my past couple of weeks were spent doing nothing, since I couldn't find any inspiration to compose.

"Sure, Dad. I'm not that busy here anyway. Do you want me to head over the hospital in the morning and talk to her? Try to see what's going on?"

"That would be great, son," I heard the relief in Carlisle's voice, "They're bringing her to room 1924 to recover. Her name is Isabella Swan. I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well."

The phone clicked as Carlisle hung up, and I snorted to myself. Sleep well? He must have been kidding me. I hadn't slept through the night in years. I curled up on my side and hit my head against my headboard. This was going to be a long night.

I woke up as soon as the sun started to rise, after finally getting a few hours of sleep. My eyes were itchy and my thoughts were fuzzy. I should probably find a doctor and deal with this sleep issue, I thought to myself. I showered quickly, and make myself some breakfast. I sat around doing nothing, until I decided that getting to the hospital at 9 wouldn't be too early. I jumped in my car and sped across town to the hospital. I checked my dashboard clock in my Volvo and climbed out of my car.

I arrived at room 1924, a private room on the eighth floor of the building. I knocked quietly and received no response, so I turned the doorknob and walked into the room.

Lying in the bed, soundlessly sleeping, was perhaps the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. My breath hitched in my throat and my palms started to sweat. God, how middle school of me. Here I was, nervous like I was on my first date ever, with a woman who was completely unconscious.

Ahh, but she was gorgeous. Her skin was alabaster, a bit pale from being in the hospital, but it looked so smooth. I wanted to touch her and discover if it felt as good as it looked. Her deep chestnut hair framed her heart shaped face with curls, part of her hair still clumped up in one of those little elastic things girls like to use to put up their hair. Her body was covered by a starchy hospital-issued blanket, but I could see her curves right through it. For some odd reason, I contemplated turning around and bolting out the door. But I was planted on the spot, staring at her sleeping form. I mentally chastised myself for being so perverted. I must be overtired or something. Why on earth was I so attracted so a random victim? I shook my head to try to clear it. Focus on the issue at hand, I reminded myself. Be professional.

Time ceased to make sensel. It could have been seconds or minutes or hours later when her eyes slowly opened. Her eyes finally focused on her arm. Her left arm was covered in bruises and cuts, and she scowled at the black and blue marks. She then looked to her other arm, and grimanced at the IV needle poking into her arm.

I laughed out loud at her ridiculous faces. The word adorable popped into my head. Suddenly, her eyes snapped up and locked in on my face. She gasped lightly and turned a bright shade of red, blushing from her cheeks down to her neck.

I gulped desperately for some air. I guess I had stopped breathing.