A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.

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CHAPTER SIX

Previously (BPOV)

The barman watched me go with a concerned frown, but was insightful enough to know I would not be dissuaded.

He recognised our mutual pain.

He abandoned me to the night as quickly as I abandoned myself. I staggered through the streets, bleary gaze following familiar landmarks home, fingers tracing rough bricks, wondering if I would make it.

Hoping that I would.

Yet half-hoping I would not. That the night would swallow me too.

~ * ~

EPOV

I'd fled the office as soon as the clock hit eight, feeling their eyes following me as I grabbed my coat and fedora and bolted. The tension in the office had been thick since our 'meeting' yesterday. My brief disappearance later that day to watch Bella buy her morning bagels had really not gone down well.

After seeing her disappear around the corner with her back of baked goods, I had hurried back to the office and arrived before ten. But then when I vanished again just before eleven, muttering vaguely of an early lunch meeting, Emmett had actually growled and hit his desk so hard the leg nearly buckled.

I ignored them all and dashed across town to Dr. Clearwater's office, needing to check that Bella was still attending her weekly therapy sessions. The week before she'd had fury painted across her features when she'd ran from the office and had been half-screaming into her phone that she was never going back.

Thankfully, I arrived yesterday just in time to see my brown-eyed seraphim disappear into Dr. Clearwater's building alongside her statuesque blonde roommate. Even though Bella left many of these session rawer than before she went in, I'd noticed that since she'd begun attending she looked peaceful more and more frequently.

Obsession, thy name is Cullen.

I had a missed call from Emmett and three missed calls from Jasper while I paced up and down the street, waiting for her. Bella and her friend emerged just over an hour later and headed toward the coffee shop; what my twisted mind had now begun to refer to as our coffee shop.

Jesus, and you think Bella needs therapy...

I watched her go from down the street, my fedora tilted to shelter my face from the rain. Bella's head was down, carefully watching the pavement to avoid trips, but halfway down the road she suddenly looked up and whirled to face me, squinting down the street to where I stood.

Fuck!

I darted into a shop doorway, heart thudding. Did she see me?

The old woman behind the counter glared at me suspiciously, but whether it was due to the clear aura of guilt emanating from me or the puddle of rainwater growing at my feet on her floor was unclear. I waited a moment, shuffling my feet like a schoolboy nervous of receiving a scolding, before I mumbled an apology and ducked back out into the rain.

Thankfully Bella and her friend were now gone. I didn't think she'd seen me, but the possibility made my gut churn. It wasn't the first time I'd contemplated just what I'd say if she caught me watching her, following her. I honestly did not know what Bella's reaction would be, but I had no doubt her blonde hard-faced roommate would have no compunction knocking me on my ass.

I jogged through the streets, heading back to the office and away from my almost-discovery as quickly as I could. I hung my coat and hat on the rack, carefully ignoring the three pairs of eyes burning holes into my jacket. It was at times like these I regretted surrounding myself with private detectives.

Jasper was wary with newly-awakened suspicion, and an ever-growing sense of hostility towards me. It was understandable for we did not keep secrets from one another; or at least we had not before. He'd been a cop in the NYPD for over five years and was a fucking walking human lie-detector.

Alice, with her uncanny perception and her indefinable look of knowing sympathy, stared at me too often these days and I could almost see the wheels in her brain ticking out of control. Perhaps the paranoia was getting to me, but a few times when I'd set off to locate Bella I'd find myself checking to see if I'd acquired my very own pixie-sized stalker.

And Emmett: the most uncomplicated of our group, yet his brawn hides an unexpected intelligence and empathy. Of all the four, it was likely we were the closest due to our shared experiences and ink; we'd served as Marines in the same unit for three years. He met my gaze with a scowl that somehow remained sympathetic, wordlessly telling me that while he was growing impatience with my behaviour he knew me well enough to read between the lines. That he knew the pain of being cupid's bitch.

The rest of the day of the meeting had passed with tortuous slowness. I'd interviewed a couple of new clients, both run-of-the-mill suspected spousal infidelity that Alice and her long-lensed camera would be investigating.

After several inventive physical threats from Jasper and Emmett I had also called Mrs. Crowley to apologise through gritted teeth for implying she was a whore. Even though she was. She had swiftly accepted my apology and then positively purred as she asked me to come to her home for a private consult. I declined.

The clock had hit five and I'd wordlessly gathered my belongings and left the office without meeting anyone's gaze, determined to stay longer tomorrow if only to confound their theories of my recent behaviour.

I had watched Bella take picture after picture in the streets, finally stopping before a half-skeletal tree lit like something from the Underworld against a blaze of orange sunset. Bella had touched the tiny white flowers growing at its trunk and looked as if her heart would break.

She'd taken a few pictures, uncaring that her hose was torn and ruined from kneeling on the stone. Then I'd followed her home, sighing in relief once she was safe and locked in her building.

~ * ~

Today the clock ticked to five and I knew all three of them watched me, waiting for me to follow my usual pattern of running tight-lipped from my desk. Determined to demonstrate my normalcy and assuage their suspicions, I deliberately did not look at the clock and kept my head down, continuing to work on the Crowley paperwork.

Jaw clenched, muscles burning with the effort, I sat there for three more hours and updated all the files I'd done in the last two months. The other three all stayed too, their skepticism palpable as I gripped my pen with enough force that shortly after half-past-seven it snapped in two.

Wordlessly, Emmett handed me another pen. I nodded tersely and returned my gaze to my desk. By now Jasper and Alice were not even pretending to work; they were openly watching me.

Ah, the irony.

The clock chimed eight and I sprung to life, tired of the pretense which was so clearly not working. I seized my hat and coat and left without a word.

I needed to find Bella.

~ * ~

I hurried to the cathedral, my step quickened to the point where I was practically running. I needed to see Bella, know she was safe.

The sun had almost set by the time I rounded the corner. and spied the gothic arches and spire. I could hear the soft reverence of the organ music from a block away, piercing the night with solemnity and the memory of childhood's forced Sunday attendance. For a moment my fingers twitched, aching to touch long-forgotten piano keys...

As soon as I entered the doors the familiar scent of incense and guilt slammed into me with the force of a Mack truck. The pastor stood at the front of the church, talking in hushed tones to a gnarled, aged woman in a black hat.

A young man sat two rows from the front, head bent, eyes closed and lips quivering. A matron occupied the left front pew; her hands were clasped and her thumbs ran over each other in a futile war as she stared sightlessly towards the alter. Her rosary clicked like a demonic record of my sins.

The row of candles was unoccupied, only three in the line lit and each of those more than half-burned down, melting into ivory wax and dripping down the stone.

There was no Bella here.

I momentarily debated asking the priest if he'd seen my dark-haired angel this night, but I knew his patience with me was already thin. My shadow-hugging had already inspired suspicion from him and I feared triggering a reaction that might make my presence here openly unwelcome.

Leaving the cathedral I felt empty, drained. A pierced balloon dripping like wax onto the pavement.

Where did she go?

~ * ~

Sometimes when I would think about Bella I would picture her in her teenage years, before her sadness had conquered her. I would imagine her sitting cross-legged on dirty carpets at friends' houses, eating ice cream and giggling over school gossip and boys.

I would picture her wide-eyed in the cinema, blushing as she shared sticky popcorn and stale soda with her date. I could almost see her shyly hugging the wall at her first high school dance, the scent of illicit alcohol and hormonal desperation thick in the air, blushing at the lusty stares of the boys among her.

How did she look when she brought her first date home to meet her father? Did she blush and duck her head, avoiding the attention, or did she meet his gaze steadily and stake her claim to her choice?

The jealousy of contemplating such thoughts - of other men! - nearly overwhelmed me, but I couldn't help but hope that in her dark past there had been spots of hope and joy and innocent pleasure.

~ * ~

I sat on the steps outside the cathedral, stewing in self-pity. The rare moment of reflection allowed me to truly feel the depth of my shame for my recent actions: I was basically stalking an innocent young woman.

What would she do if she knew? She'd be terrified, sickened. Disgusted.

I thought of the few past clients we'd had who'd come to us for protection from unwanted stalkers, the fear in their eyes as they described the invasion into their privacy and peace-of-mind. I'd sat there and sympathised, condemned them before tracking them down and solving the problem.

And here I was, fully qualified to join their ranks. The irony was a bitter pill.

I needed a drink.

The bright fluorescence from down the street drew my eyes: Jeff's Bar. The entrance and sign told me all I needed to know: an anonymous watering hole which welcomed the lost and the desperate. I could almost smell the stale liquor and cigarettes from here.

The stench overwhelmed me when I walked into the bar, but I welcomed it. The long low-lit room held a handful of dingy tables and chairs, occupied by even dingier patrons. Sallow eyes followed me as I walked to the bar at the end of the room and claimed a stool.

The barman merely arched a brow at me, awaiting my order. This wasn't a conversational type of place.

"Cuervo. Straight up."

He paused at this, giving me a puzzled look I didn't understand, but then slammed a shot glass down and filled it up. I downed it, and gestured for the same again. He complied, but the line between his brow was now even more pronounced.

The alcohol burned my throat and I leaned my elbows on the bar, ignoring Alice's voice in the back of my head that screamed about Italian silk on unwashed public surfaces. I leaned forward, resting my head on my elbows.

That's when I saw it.

A flash of vibrant red wool spilled like a ribbon of blood across the black, sticky barroom floor.

Impossible.

I jumped from the barstool and picked the scarf up with trembling fingers, relishing the silky feel of the wool that my hands had longed to touch for months now. The shade was unmistakable, but how many women in Seattle must own red scarves...?

How many women in Seattle haunt the cathedral down the road with this exact colour of scarf?

I ran the soft cashmere through my hands, my over-exposure to Alice telling me that the garment was expensive enough to be unusual in a dive such as this. I brought the scarf to my face and inhaled, noting the tinge of alcohol and cigarettes but beneath it was the intense floral fragrance of spring and summer berries. Her scent. The coincidence was too great to avoid.

I looked up to catch the barman's attention, to find him staring at me with a furrowed brow. It was as if he knew what I was going to ask.

"The woman," I began, unsure how to phrase it. "The woman who dropped this scarf - what did she look like?"

He arched a brow at me and tilted his head. "Why do you want to know?"

Anger simmered below my voice. I didn't have time for this! "Did she tell you her name? Did she say her name was Bella?"

"She didn't tell me her name."

"Brunette, brown-eyes?" I barked out.

He scoffed. "You could be describing two-thirds of the women in this city."

"Beautiful. Pale skin, very pale like the snow. Black pea-coat. Hair almost to her waist, curling slightly. Sad eyes."

The barman's face softened slightly. "Yeah, she was here. Ordered the same drink as you too."

My heart began to pound. She'd been drinking, and she'd left her scarf behind...one thing I'd learned my observations was that she was meticulous, not the type to forget her belongings.

"How much did she drink? When did she leave?!" My voice was getting more agitated; where the hell was she? Was she okay?

His eyes were weighing me up, but more sympathetically now. "No offence, bro, but how do I know you weren't the one that sent her in here, that made her look so sad?"

"Fuck! I know you're trying to look out for her, but I can assure you if she was sad it had nothing to do with me. Now please, I just want to know if she's safe, if she got home okay. It's not like her to leave her scarf behind." I curled my fists, restraining the impulse to leap over the bar and shake my answers from him. "Please."

He sighed, and leaned forward onto the bar, resting his weight onto the balls of his hands. "She was here, for about an hour and a half. Drunk a shit-load of Cuervo, maybe took a couple of Xanex too." I must have looked quizzical, because he explained, "I recognised the bottle."

"Did she get a cab?"

He looked a little guilty then, but defiant. "No. I tried to get her to... But she refused and she wouldn't be told otherwise. Stubborn woman."

My hands started to shake, the muscles in my forearms rippling and tightening with the tension. The rage in my face must have been clear because the guy behind the bar took a couple of steps back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

"You let her walk home, alone, drunk off her tits and high on pills? Are you fucking crazy?"

"Look, man, this is bar not a fucking treatment centre. She's a grown woman and was pretty damn clear that she wasn't getting in a cab. What did you want me to do, knock her out and stuff her in the backseat myself?!"

Yes, you stupid prick!

I swallowed my anger, but a growl reverberated in my chest. The barman was starting to look scared now, feeling below the counter for what was undoubtedly some sort of weapon.

"When did she leave?"

"About five minutes before you came in. She turned right, heading toward twenty-second street." He didn't meet my eyes. "Sorry, man."

I threw a twenty on the counter, grabbed her scarf and stalked out without saying another word. If I heard one more syllable from that stupid son of a bitch I wouldn't be able to stop myself from pounding his face into the bar, gun or no gun.

~ * ~

I ran down the street like a madman. She'd gone right, heading towards her apartment...I hoped. It was at times like this I regretted not taking my invasion of her privacy even further and illicitly getting her cellphone number. Although, even if I had it, what the hell would I say to her?

Um, hello, Bella. This is Edward, your stalker. I came to follow you around after work tonight and couldn't find you, but the barman said you were headed home. Just wanted to check you were okay. Well, bye.

Hmm, maybe not.

Then I saw her.

On the left-side of the road ahead of me she was stumbling down the street, her steps unsteady and her hair in a tangled mess around her face. One hand clung to the exposed brickwork as she traced the walls to mirror her steps down the street.

Shit, how drunk is she?

I hurried down the street after her, my anger and concern bursting so brightly I worried they would shatter the bulbs of the street lights around us. What the hell was she thinking? A disheveled angel staggering through the back streets of Seattle in the middle of the night was sure to attract the wrong kind of attention.

I moved closer to her than I usually would. Her intoxication made me bold.

I brush her shoulder lightly, whispering her name so low she wouldn't hear me; I didn't want her to remember in the morning that the stranger who approached her had known her name.

Then I spoke louder, "Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?"

She paused and turned to face me, the movement nearly upsetting her balance. I caught her arm, steadying her as she stumbled, and the contact sparked a pulse of electric light through my skin, the energy so strong I thought that at any moment we would both begin to glow.

I knew she felt it too, her gasp audible and overly-dilated eyes widening as she locked with mine. Her mouth was parted, her bow-like lips soft. She looked drunk and sleepy and unkempt, but she was more beautiful than I had ever seen for her in that moment she looked alive.

Tentatively, eyes wide in wonder, she reached out and touched my cheekbone. The energy jumped between us once again, webs of electricity shivering over our skin and we both shuddered with it.

Her voice was soft and musical, "You're beautiful." She traced my face with soft feathery fingers and I shivered at the contact, the warmth. "Who are you?"

My mouth was dry, I didn't know what to say to her. Before I could answer she stumbled forward, her eyes rolling back into her head as she collapsed in a boneless slump into my arms.

Just then, it began to rain.

~ * ~

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