Chapter Two

"Bella. Bella," my mom whispered, hovering over me. Normally, I didn't ever respond to her waking me up at before noon hours, but somewhere in my sleep state, something told me it was important to wake up.

"Hmm. It's Saturday," I mumbled in response.

"Bella. Get up. Put some pants on and come downstairs. Now," she said as I blinked her face into focus.

She had her hair carelessly flung into a sloppy ponytail-bun thing, loose tendrils of sleep-sweaty curls falling down her neck and trailing under the collar of one of dad's old Senor Frog shirts. The only thing keeping me from fixing her with a scowl was the mug of coffee I spied on my nightstand that I knew was for me.

"There'd better be hazelnut creamer in there."

"Hurry, Bella," she said, ignoring my demands before leaving and shutting the door.

I rolled over to check the time, surely it was Ungodly o'clock, but my phone wasn't there; the white USB cord was lying there, limp and useless and phoneless. I had no clue what kind of love-filth Edward had probably texted in the middle of the night, but obviously, my parents had confiscated my phone.

I tossed an arm over my eyes and listened for my too quickly beating heart.

They know.

Somehow, my parents had discovered that I had been a thrust away from having sex just hours ago, and now I was going to die of humiliation. Bars were going to be put on my window, Edward was never going to pitch again due to his broken arms, and I'd have to endure a conversation about condoms and herpes and teen mothers. My mother would use the word "hymen" and my father would turn that shade of red that's more purple than it is red and there was no way any of us would ever be able to pass the salt or a chicken leg at the table without thinking of hymens, ever again.

I jumped out of bed and flung my hair into a ponytail not unlike my mother's. I supposed walking down there in his clothes would kind of be like pouring salt on the wound. Or lube on almost-intercourse, as the case were. So, I flung off his old JV jersey and threw on an one of dad's old Van Halen t-shirts. Cautiously, I opened my door and hovered at the top of the stairs, thinking of quick lies to spit out when confronted.

"Bella! Now!"

My parents were both standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting on me to walk down.

"What's up?" I asked brightly, trying to put a bounce in my step.

"Bella, was Edward here last night?" my dad asked without preamble, but it wasn't typical Sheriff Charlie Voice; it wasn't the sharp tip of a speech or a disappointed rant. It was way too cut-and-dried and urgent.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. "No, Dad. I got in at 10:30, remember?" I said with a careful shrug.

I got to the end of the stairs and tried to wedge between them with a smile, but my dad stepped in front of me.

"You aren't in trouble, sweetheart," he said quietly. "What time did he leave here?"

"Dad. He left at ten thirty," I insisted, shrugging his hand off my shoulder.

"Bella he knows. I told him."

I whipped around to the doorway where Emmett and his dad were standing near the front door.

"What's going on?" I asked cautiously, taking a step back from all of them. Something weird was going on, and my stomach sank down somewhere near my butt.

Mom ushered me to the couch and managed to put a mug of coffee in Mr. McCarty's hand in a matter of seconds.

"He didn't make it home last night," Charlie said. "What time did he leave here?"

"Before twelve," I blurted out. My stomach sank down to my knees. "He had to be home by twelve and meet Emmett first."

"He never showed," Emmett said curtly, pushing his hands up his forehead, flipping his baseball cap up. I noticed he was in his sweat pants and an undershirt. Not even dressed.

"Where is he?" I asked, this weird half-smile of disbelief on my face, the kind that is too stiff to quiver or change. I swear, my body knew before my brain that something was wrong and life had just been forever altered.

Deputy Mark and Deputy Aaron chose that moment to come out of our kitchen, shocking the hell out of me.

"What is going on?" I asked calmly, standing up then sitting back down.

"His car and his phone, wallet, all found out by the field behind his house. He never showed up to meet Emmett," Charlie said before producing his Blackberry and tapping things out with his thumbs. Deputy Mark sat on the recliner opposite us while my eyes swung to Emmett.

"What do you mean, he never showed up? Where's my phone? I'll call him. He'll answer, and-"

"I have his phone down at the station, Bella," Charlie said.

"Why?"

"It's evidence."

Emmett kept rubbing his forehead and Mr. McCarty hadn't even sipped his coffee.

"He left here before twelve?" Charlie asked, and I swear, I never thought we'd be having a conversation like this...so easy and so hard all at the same time.

I saw my mom's mouth form a tight line, but Charlie showed no judgment at all.

"You saw him get in his car?" Charlie asked.

"No...I heard it start, though."

"Any noise? Any other voices, or-"

"Nothing, Daddy," I whispered. I tried to remember, tried to focus on the details of the night, but all I could think of was that smile he had flashed me over his shoulder before climbing out my window like he'd done a thousand hundred times. "Nothing. It was like-"

"Like what?"

"Like it always is when he goes out the window," I whispered and at this, Charlie sighed but nodded, making more notes on his phone.

"And he was supposed to meet Emmett at quarter to twelve at the Gas Up, but never showed..." Charlie said, looking over his notes, talking to himself.

That was over forty-five minutes unaccounted for. As a cop's daughter, I know exactly how grave forty-five unaccounted-for minutes are.

"Where are his parents?" I asked weakly.

"At the station. Bella. I want to know everything and anything you talked about. Anything you did together. All of it."

I sank into the couch and put my head in my hands, thinking. Still, all I could remember was that smile.

I shook my head to dispel the memory and instead tried like hell to remember if he told me he was going somewhere or if his car was having trouble or if-

"Bella?"

"We...made out. Joked around. That's it. Like always."

"Joked about what?"

"Tights."

"What?"

"I...make fun of his baseball uniform," I said with a shrug and it sounded so stupid and so personal that my knees began to shake.

Mom swooped her arm around me and put my head under her chin, but Charlie kept going. His stern cop mode was comforting, keeping me anchored. The quick-fire questions, the no-nonsense, impersonal way of throwing them out made me appreciate how good of a cop he was. I knew the minute he turned back into my father that I would crumble, that I would start thinking.

"What else? Did you have an argument?"

"No, no. We talked about...I don't know. Each other and um," I blew out a shaky breath and wiped my eyes. "Baseball…we…"

"What?" Charlie prodded.

It's sick. It's sick how you say and do things that are meant to be only yours and you never, ever plan on having to say them or share them with your father, of all people. Humiliation warred with the knowledge that I knew they needed to know everything.

And if he showed up in ten minutes with a shit-eating grin, I was going to go ape-shit on him.

"Sex."

"Did you two have sex last night?" he asked, and it was so crushing and embarrassing but at the same time, this was not my father. This was an investigating cop. He showed no sign of being my dad at all, no disappointment or anger or shock or judgment at what I'd said.

And that's when the confusion of it all whooshed away and I knew that something was very, terribly wrong.

"No. His mom called and…we didn't. We never have."

"Was he mad about that?" Charlie asked.

"No! He's not like that, dad. You know that."

"Did he say anyone in town has a problem with him? Has he mentioned if anyone is jealous or upset with him?"

"No, Dad. Everyone loves Edward, you know that."

"What is it?" Charlie asked, picking up on my hesitation.

"Nothing...big. He just talked about how sometimes it's a lot of pressure, the baseball and all..."

"He felt under pressure? Stressed out?"

At this, Aaron, Mark and Charlie exchanged a glance and my mom held me tighter.

"No, no," I said, waving a hand and swallowing a fresh wave of tears, "not like that. He wouldn't do that."

"No," Emmett said, his pacing at a halt. "Nah, he wouldn't do that."

But Charlie kept silently making notes.

"He talked to you about feeling pressure. From who?"

"The town, his father. But dad, he wouldn't just take off or hurt himself. It wasn't like that. It was just a talk."

"Did he say those things?"

"Yes."

"What, exactly, did he say?"

So I told them. All of it.

For so long, it was so quiet.

And then:

"Let's drag the lake. I want all of the trees around the Cullen property double checked for rope, cords-"

"No, Dad," I said, sitting up, pulling on his sleeve. "He was so happy when he left. It's not like that."

"Bella," Charlie said, putting his hand on the top of my head, "we want him back safe. We have to cover all the bases. Let me do my job." And there it was. He was my dad again. I didn't have a stomach anymore.

They were up in a flurry, my mom filling thermoses, the officers convening near the door, the radios affixed to their shoulders buzzing with static and voices talking in code.

Across the room, Emmett looked at me and I looked at Emmett, neither of us saying a damned thing.

For hours I sat there, staring at my phone on my lap, waiting for it to chime, to light up with his name.

My eyes turned grainy, the screen of the phone blurred and I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet.

Mom tried to give me lunch; I declined.

Finally, she sat next to me with a sigh.

"You love him," she said.

"Yeah."

And then, I cried on her neck.

"Did Dad call your phone?" I asked my mom, hours, years, a blink of an eye later as the sky was turning pink.

"I haven't heard anything yet, Bella," my mom said gently, staring at the evening news.

I got up slowly, for the first time all day. I walked up the stairs slowly, heading for my bedroom, where I shut the door and lay face first on my pillow.

It seemed absolutely impossible that not even twenty-four hours ago, he was here. Right here. Laughing with me and making huge decisions with me...and now he was just...gone.

I rolled off the bed and opened my window, tears free-flowing, hot and rapid down my face.

I looked up at the sky, past the inky tree limbs obstructing my view.

He was out there... somewhere, breathing the same exact oxygen. So how could he be gone?

And that is how I lulled myself to sleep for the next three nights.

Jess and Rosalie showed up the next day, their own faces tear-stained, make-up free and confused.

"I mean, he didn't say anything? Like, at all?" Jess asked, wiping her eye on her sleeve.

I turned up my palms and shrugged.

"I don't know anything. I just know he wouldn't disappear. He wouldn't hurt himself. He was happy. He was going to the batting cages..." I trailed off, thinking how stupid that sounded.

"It's okay," Rosalie said, putting her arm around me. "It's okay. And when he comes back, I'm going to kick his ass for making you cry. I swear, I'm going to kill him for doing this."

She meant well, but I pushed off of her.

"He didn't do anything," I said, frustration building. "He didn't do this on purpose."

Rose coiled back and Jess still sniffled into her sleeve.

"You think someone what, hurt him?" Jess asked.

"I don't know," I said, now shaking my head rapidly. "I don't know. I just know he wouldn't leave on purpose. And he wouldn't hurt himself. So if people are saying that...they should just stop. Because he wouldn't."

Jess chewed on her lip then sighed.

"Jasper told the police that Edward said he might quit right after the season's over."

"What?" I said, confused. He hadn't said that to me. Nothing along those lines at all.

"He said he was tired of it. Not the game...just the, you know...golden boy status."

"He wasn't going to quit," I scoffed, feeling irritated and hurt. If he felt that way, he would have told me before anyone else, wouldn't he? "He wanted to play ball. For like, ever."

"I'm just saying what Jasper said. He's got no reason to lie, Bella."

"He must have been frustrated," I said. "He didn't mean it."

I was talking for him, and maybe I shouldn't have been, but I hated the way people were already writing him off. I hated the way they doubted his strength. That they thought that he could...

Jasper shouldn't have said that," I snapped.

"He had to," Jess said, sounding a bit defensive. "They want to hear everything."

"Yeah, but it just makes it sound like something it's not!"

"If you filter stuff to suit yourself, you could leave out a huge clue! Like, even if you don't think it's important, it could be!"

"He wouldn't do that!" I shouted again and the way they looked at me, like I was so naive, like my boyfriend had lied to me and I just sucked it up...just gored me.

"He wouldn't," I repeated, lowering myself to the porch stairs. My girls sat with me, and we didn't say another word, we just linked arms and waited for a boy who didn't show up.

Jasper and Em, did, though, looking as lost as I felt.

Emmett got out of the Jeep, his radio silent for once, his hands jammed in his pockets. His demeanor was so unlike anyway I'd ever seen Emmett.

He just looked at me from under the brim of his cap and shook his head in disbelief before taking a seat right on the sidewalk.

Jasper leaned against the Jeep and spit his chew, staring at the ground.

"I wish he'd get the hell back here already," he said after a few minutes, to no one in particular.

We stayed until well past dark, saying nothing, just keeping silent vigil, waiting for our friend.

Later that night we found out that traces of blood were found inside of his truck. A week or so later, it was confirmed to be Edward's.

I didn't know what to think or do with that; my mother delivered the news hesitantly. She wrung her hands and hugged me and spoke the words very slowly, very softly. But I didn't die. If you had asked me a week before how I would have dealt with that news, I probably would have laughingly said that I would die. I didn't scream, either, and I didn't cry. I just laid down.

Things disappeared after that. I mean, days were nothing. I couldn't remember eating or peeing or sleeping or waking or even breathing. There was nothing.

And then, eight days or so later, there was a pregnant silence with every second that went by.

I jumped when the house phone rang once, some automated message encouraging me to vote against the state Senatorial incumbent in the upcoming primary.

My shoulders were so tense they felt like they'd snap with each movement, and it occurred to me that I'd been waiting for him to call me. Since we'd kissed the first time, I'd never gone so long without hearing his voice.

Esme Cullen came to our house very early the next morning and I could hardly look her in the eye.

It was like looking in a mirror. She looked dazed, lost and a bit wild.

She sat at our kitchen table, untouched coffee courtesy of Mom, Edward's old Yankees sweatshirt wrapped around her shoulders.

"Anything, anything at all you can think of," Esme was saying to me, her eyes wide and searching my face, her cold hands gripping mine.

"I told them all I know," I told her weakly, wishing like hell I could offer something, anything.

"I know, I know...but if you could just...if you could just think once more, Bella. Even something he said months ago..."

"There's nothing," I whispered, my own eyes tearing up.

That was the giant bitch of the entire situation….there was nothing.

Esme bit her lip and nodded, blowing out a breath.

"It's just, if he was going to say something, he would've said it to you."

I lifted my knees to my chin and rocked back and forth.

"I want my boy home," Esme said to Renee, and it was terrible how dull she sounded. Edward's joy, his zest for life, was a direct reflection of his mother. "I just want him home."

I buried my face in my knees.

"I have no idea if he's cold or if he's hungry or if he's hurt. What if he's in a ditch somewhere in pain, or..." With that, her breathing became heavy and my mom squatted down next to her chair.

"Carlisle says I can't go there. I can't think of it...but since the day he was born, my sole focus has been his well being. So how do you turn that off?" She gave a tremulous smile, her question earnest, her shoulders shaking.

After a bit, my mom drove Esme home, that sweatshirt still wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

I stayed at the table and stared at the untouched coffee and thought the worst thing. I thought, I'd really, really love to talk to Edward about this.

The station, the school and a few of Edward's more distant relatives printed up a bunch of fliers with Edward's face on them. It was a picture I'd taken myself, just after a game.

He'd been packing his stuff up in the dugout as I called to him, my phone already aimed in his direction for a picture.

He looked up and smiled brightly, his hat tilted back, his eyes gleaming with victory. I clicked the picture.

"Congratulations," I told him.

"Gimme a prize?" he'd said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and then he chased me all the way to the backseat of his car.

We pasted those fliers all over anything that didn't move.

I walked until my legs were numb and my side ached, and then some.

I told myself, someone will see this face, see this smile and know it. Someone will have seen him and remember. You don't forget that smile. You can never, ever forget that smile.

And then came the days I daydreamed I would see him.

I'd find him and he'd see me, from a window or a car or something...and he'd come running.

And there'd be a stupid reason for all of this and we'd laugh. I'd take him home, and Esme would cry and our boy would be home.

But all I got was lost in downtown Port Angeles.

When Charlie came to pick me up, it started to rain.

Eventually, Seattle picked up on the story, and then it was national news. Cable stations plastered him everywhere. Because he was this terribly good-looking white kid with potential. And people were captivated.

I appreciated it and I hated it. People were concerned or caught up in the sensation of it all, but not one of those strangers knew how vitally important it was for him to be home and safe. They didn't know about the ticklish spot above his elbow, or his pure and illogical hatred of cheddar cheese, or how he could twirl a girl in a meadow and make her feel like the only girl alive.

In the meantime, our little town was taken over by film crews and polished reporters with sympathetic and symmetrical smiles, and they asked about his fucking baseball stats.

No one asked what made him laugh, and that was one I actually knew the answer to. When they all found out that I was "the girlfriend," I learned the meaning of stoicism. I had to walk around with a bland expression on my face because I didn't particularly enjoy hearing about how I was "bucking up" under the pressure and uncertainty of it all on channel 5. Eventually, none of my friends would let me walk around without an escort. I think Emmett got a lot of satisfaction from squiring me around town with a mean tilt to his chin. He palmed a reporter's camera away from his face and tossed it, saying "bill me" over his shoulder without inflection.

The reporters soon learned to leave me alone.

I constantly scrolled through his pictures on my phone. I stared at the ones pasted to my mirror. I cried, and sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I listened to old voicemails he'd left. I'd read his past texts like they were bedtime stories…but I stopped when the date of the last text kept growing further and further away.

It seemed impossible that someone so full of life, so huge, so present could be hidden away, gone without a crumb to lead me to him.

Thank you for reading, the reviews were lovely!