Bella's POV

He's losing light…

The thought struck me the minute the words were out of my mouth.

I watched through my film of nothing, my certainty intact despite the draining that began in his eyes and drew steadily down through his face.

It was like watching a hotplate slowly fade from scarlet-red to black: the fleeing of heat, of power, strangely beautiful.

And strangely sad.

"Edward…?" He didn't respond, just stared at me, his beautiful mouth slumped as though too exhausted to form words.

"Are you ok?" But even as I asked I knew he wasn't; knew that for what I had done there would be no ok.

And yet I was so terribly certain; all the angst and pain was still folded neatly inside me, no rough edges, no difficult lengths, nothing for me to shove away and deal with later. I felt curiously fixed.

Like there had never been anything to fix.

"Oh!"

The ringing phone caught me off guard but then I was out of my chair, conscious that my movements were slurred, that the air felt heavier, denser.

"Hello?"

"That you Bells?" A familiar voice crackled across a bad line.

Charlie.

I pulled myself up straight, as if the movement would jostle some of the fog from my mind, sober me up.

"Of course it's me! Hi Char-dad, how's the trip?" I cringed at my chirpiness, knew I had tried too hard, had over-shot. .

The crackling increased in volume then dropped to a low mutter.

"Great – real great Bells…" He paused. "How's it going with you?"

I closed my eyes. His worry was thick, like smog, polluting every word.

"I'm fine, dad, honestly. Stop worrying, you'll fish more." I forced a smile, as though he would see it and relax.

He laughed, quickly, thinly.

"You sure, yeah? I dunno, you sound…funny."

You need to get through this Bella. He doesn't need to know.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the way he had left me – or rather the me he had left behind.

"Totally sure – just watching some TV, you know how it is…"

The line crackled again and I could imagine his face creasing into new folds over my words.

I hadn't watched much TV lately.

And yet he seemed to make up his mind to let it go, his voice going slightly gruff, business-like.

"Yeah well, holidays or not, you've still got homework."

Easy does it Bella.

"What, you can abandon the streets to criminals to go fishing but I can't watch the box?"

"Ha ha, Bells." His voice changed, becoming less gruff, more hopeful. "Jake there?"

Jake.

The thought should have made me uncomfortable. I explored the shape of it in my mind, traced the picture that swelled up with the name.

Nothing.

"No, dad, not tonight. Why, you miss him more than me?"

"No, I – look, Bells…" he cleared his throat, "you mind awfully if I stay here a bit longer?"

I paused for a microsecond. Did I?

But the nothingness was vast and opaque.

I forced myself to sound casual, happy for him.

"No way dad – you stay! When's the last time you took a break, huh?"

Charlie laughed, this time it lasted longer and I could feel him relax.

"Just what Billy said – reckons he planned it all long – get me here then tell me we're in for the long haul! Anyway, be back in a week – or ten days if you count the couple I've already been gone. But listen…" I heard a rustling sound, as though he were adjusting his cap, running his hand through his hair.

"I'll come back – if you need me – if you want, I mean…" He trailed off.

What would he do if he knew?

But it was a wasted thought. Charlie would have left without so much as a 'goodbye Billy'.

"Don't worry about me, dad. I've got heaps to do before school, TV to watch – you know."

He sighed. "Ok, if you're sure…"

"I am – catch big fish, ok?"

Charlie made a whooping noise and I could literally see the grin on his face, the way his cheeks creased when something got him real good.

"You should see 'em Bells! Big as surfboards – never seen nothing like it! Will bring some home, you'll see."

"Cool dad, don't fall in, ok?"

"Sure, sure. Take care Bells – you need, you call, ok?"

"'K dad."

"Love you kid."

"You too dad – bye."

I hung up the phone and walked back to the table, feeling every step back to that strange place where I could look at him and feel nothing.

He was exactly as I had left him, gold eyes huge like his grief had smeared them across his face. I sat down.

"That was Charlie…" I trailed off.

He was so beautiful, so unearthly fair I thought to myself, quoting a book I no longer remembered. The sleek masculine planes of his face, the full lips, his hair like dark, sweet caramel. Nothing had changed and yet my heart continued its steady, slow beat in my chest.

He continued to stare at me, his gaze seeking something I couldn't even name. I looked away.

"He's on a fishing trip – supposed to be back tomorrow night but…" I took a breath, wondering if I was talking too slow or too fast.

"Anyway, you know Charlie – loves fishing – he's going to hang in there for another we…" I peeked up at him and the words shrivelled on my tongue.

His eyes.

It was like the switch had flicked back on, the light that had faded now returning but somehow different from before; a creeping, alien glow that made his eyes glitter, his shoulders widen infinitesimally and his fingers twitch claw-like from his palms.

Not once since I had met him had I been afraid of him – not even in those times when a rational person would have been utterly terrified. I'd never come close. Without knowing why, even before I'd known how he felt about me, I'd trusted him. His concern for me had always coloured him - so evident in everything he did - and yet now, through my haze, I understood what it was about the light that disturbed me.

It was colourless; not a glimpse of me in it.

The change in him should have scared the wits from me. In fact I could feel my body tense, my face arch like a spine, going through the motions of a fear I should have felt.

But didn't.

I looked away, already trying to think of something to say. I looked at my fingers in my lap, the tiles beneath my feet. My lips were already poised, just waiting for the words.

And then just as I was about to draw air – despite yet having nothing to say – it was suddenly gone, thrown from my lungs with an impact that seized my careful vision and sent it spinning.

I couldn't cry out, couldn't move, my entire body was closed in a strange new shape.

A rush of air scrawled its cold hand across my face, and I squinted against it still struggling to comprehend what had happened – what was happening.

I tried to move but couldn't, the resistance so cold and yet so familiar. And the motion, barely perceptible beneath me; the jumble of colours, muted by darkness flashing past my eyes.

He's running

But the knowledge came much as anything else: it appeared and then lay down deep inside me.

I lifted my head. His profile above me was immobile; his jaw clenched so tight that any tighter and his face would surely crumble to dust, his eyes fixed on the night ahead. I took a deep breath, the scent of his thick jacket, his bared throat as sweet as they'd ever been.

He's running.

I stirred the knowledge with my toe, prodding it, asking for one more thing before it rolled over and slept.

It was so unlike him, I thought, like he'd lost his mind, like a part of him had just dropped away…

Like me.

Abruptly he looked down at me, his stride not missing a single pace. His face was alive with that awful light, locked in a strange mix of fury and grief. I met his eyes and the determination, the possession in them – despite the haze - shocked me.

"I. Won't. Let. You. Go." The words came out in tight little bites, his velvet voice tattered and bare.

I couldn't respond. There was madness in him, a madness that made the bloodlust of James and Laurent and the vengeance of Victoria crumble into insignificance – I didn't know how I knew that, I just did.

And with it I knew exactly what he was doing; why I was in his arms, clutched tighter to him than his own skin.

He was keeping me.

"Edward…" I mumbled his name, hearing the word come out crumpled and dusty like old tissue.

He didn't respond, perhaps hadn't even heard me. Beneath me, the ground rippled by at unbelievable speed.

So strange, I thought to myself. So very strange to be in his arms. On the surface it was so unbelievably the same, and yet I was outside of myself, seeing him, smelling him, touching him through a screen. I understood – or at least I thought I understood – why he was doing it. But I couldn't make it touch me, could feel no stammer in my chest, no adrenalin surging in my blood.

Only the cool glass against my fingertips.

He's like a phoenix, I thought to myself with that same, strange clarity. So beautiful and then so dead.

Is that what this is?

And suddenly I knew: the pack – Jacob and his new brothers. They would find me. It wouldn't matter how fast Edward ran or how far, they would find me.

He would find me.

Again I waited for the fear to wash over me, for the panic to turn my skin to ice. I closed my eyes and concentrated, pictured Edward and Jacob, the Cullens and the pack, brought together to some awful confrontation.

Because of Edward.

Because of me.

I leaned right down inside myself, felt the ache in my arms, in my hands as my fingers swept blindly from side to side.

And came up empty.

Someone could die. I forced myself to think it, tasted the thought with infinite care.

Edward could die.

I opened my eyes. It was as though he could hear my thoughts. His bones seemed to have tightened, the jaw beneath his flesh blade-sharp.

"Edward." My voice was faint in my ears, surely woefully inadequate for the task at hand. But I had to try – even if it made no difference, even if I was risking further damage – to him, to me – I had to try.

"You need to know something, I - my friend Jacob – Jake – you met him at prom, he –"

His words were like shrapnel, brittle and scattered cutting through mine

"I know."

I waited for his words to seep in, to pass through the glass.

He knew.

But the shock was as absent as the fear.

How long? I mused to myself. Was it from the beginning? Since he'd come back? How long had he been back? Had he watched me? Watched him? Watched us? Did he know that he'd saved me – that Jacob had saved me?

Does he know that without him I might have…

A flutter – so slight, so swift it was gone before I could touch it. Gone before I could even believe it.

I turned my mind back to Edward – to Jacob.

Does it even matter?

The thought drifted calmly, softer than a sigh.

Does it?

And then my eyes were closing and I was retreating utterly into that strange, soundless place where my face never flushed, my heart never raced and my love for Edward was long-cold in its grave.

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again we were inside and he was placing me quickly but carefully onto a sofa that faced a low coffee table.

My first thought was that he had changed his mind, had turned around while I was asleep and taken me home.

But then I saw the way he flashed from the sofa to the window, his white fingers forcing the dark yellow drapes to block out the night.

I sat up on the couch, unsure if he knew I was awake, and looked around me. Everything was dark panelling - the walls, the floors, even the ceiling. The couch I sat on was rose coloured and covered in hundreds of tiny blue and yellow flowers. There was no ceiling light, but the walls had a number of evenly spaced lamps set in old-fashioned looking sconces that coated everything with a treacle-coloured light. A thick rug made of roughly cut wool in a dark shade of gray stretched all the way from the far side of the lounge to the other, where a small door opened onto what looked like a kitchen.

Of its own accord my stomach growled.

Edward whirled around to face me, the soft light dusting rose gold across his pale features.

"Hi…" I managed weakly.

For a moment it looked like he wouldn't respond, his eyes tortured, his shoulders worn tight around his neck as though he balanced a giant python upon them. But then his face softened and I could literally see the snake slithering away.

"Hi." He said.

For a moment we just looked at each other.

"Where are we?" I ventured.

He snapped a quick glance back at the curtains before he replied.

"This is my place."

"Your place?"

For a moment I thought he might smile, but the slight twitch on his lips crumbled like old cake.

"Yes. I bought it a long time ago."

"How long?" The question came out before I even knew why I was asking.

He shrugged, his eyes clamped fiercely on mine as though afraid to stray elsewhere.

"Long time." He said again.

I paused, unsure what to say.

His face twisted suddenly, as thought the ridiculousness of our conversation had only just occurred to him.

"You must be hungry." He said quickly, turning away from me again and back to the window.

As if on cue, my stomach gave another low grumble.

He gestured towards the narrow doorway.

"There's plenty of food, you should eat something."

I stood up, then hesitated.

"You're not going to…? I mean, will you…?" I trailed off.

He looked at me, his face unreadable then looked away. But not before I saw thin lines of agony streak his face.

"I trust you."

I stood silently, unsure what to do. And then Edward was moving from the window to the door, his shoulders again hoisting the phantom python, his profile diamond-hard.

Someone's here.

My mind tried to race, but the glass was too hard, the fog too thick, causing it to trip and stagger when it wanted to run wildly in circles.

I watched from behind, watched as he placed a single hand on the door knob, his knuckles straining beneath his icing-white flesh.

But before I could think, before I could even begin to wonder if my nightmare was coming to pass, he was opening the door, stepping aside, letting someone in.

She was wet from the storm, her dark hair plastered in skinny, black blades to her forehead.

"Bella…?"

It was Alice.