"angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly

connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-

ery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat

up smoking in the supernatural darkness of

cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities

contemplating jazz,"

"Howl"

Allen Ginsberg

1956

It was so kind of you to bring refreshments, you'll have to drink the wine yourself, of course, but what do they say? It's the thought that counts?

Is it something that Edward would have done? I don't know. I never experienced what he was like when attempting to impress a woman. If I had to imagine what his attempts at courtship would be I would guess that he would declare himself earnestly and then wrap her in the cloak of his protectiveness and adoration. But not just any woman, the woman. Men like my brother Edward only fall in love once and then they do it absolutely. No, I don't know if he ever has. Perhaps you'll have the chance to ask him yourself?

But we're not talking about Edward yet. We're talking about Carlisle. I wanted nothing to do with Carlisle and his sympathy, his attempts to assuage whatever guilt he had by saving some poor girl from the streets. I had seen it before and I had no doubt I'd see it again. I refused to feel shame for what I chose to do with my life. And I wasn't a whore, per se, not that I would have been embarrassed to admit it if I were. I was Peter's mistress, I wasn't a girl he could have married or taken to faculty parties. I had slept with men for security or money but I chose who I slept with. I was hardly picking up tricks in Time Square.

I didn't want to be looked at with pity. I had chosen the life I lived. I had grown up in the midst of death, daughter to a chief of police in a poor town where a good time on a Saturday night could end at the local morgue. My maternal grandfather owned the local funeral parlor where I would go after school so my grandmother could babysit me. I was made to understand at an early age that life is brutish and short but rather than put my faith in the stained glass Jesus in the dimly-lit church of my grandparents I put my faith in sensation and my own mind.

My desire for sensation was what led me to shoot heroin. It was pretty much de rigueur in my crowd in those days. I prided myself on not being one of those pathetic junkies, on being an occasional, recreational user. But that didn't mean that I couldn't overdose. Which is what I did accidentally a couple weeks after I met Carlisle.

I remember fixing in my apartment with a male friend and the next thing I knew I woke up with an ache in my chest like I'd been stabbed. I was wearing clothes that weren't my own, a woman's nightgown, and sleeping in a strange bed. I jerked upright and then collapsed back, suddenly weak. I must have cried out without realizing it because a woman came into the room.

She was in her mid-twenties and looked like someone's mother. Someone's beautiful mother, with long caramel-colored hair and light brown eyes. She had a look on her face that reminded me of Carlisle in its fierce kindness and concern.

"Are you alright, Bella?" She came to the side of the bed and placed a hand on my forehead. Her hand was cool. It felt good on my hot forehead.

"Where am I?" She smiled and turned to leave.

"I'm going to get you something to eat and I'll explain everything. I'm Esme, by the way. I'll be right back." I was disoriented and frightened, not familiar feelings for me but I was too weak to do anything about where I was and something about Esme made me feel comforted. She reminded me of my grandmother in her gentleness.

She returned with some soup and some tea and helped me prop myself up to eat. Once I was a little more lucid I could see that I was not in a hospital. The room I was in was too nicely furnished and Esme wore regular clothes, not a nurse's uniform.

"This is my home, you're still in New York." I realized then that I couldn't hear the traffic well and figured I must be high up in an apartment building. Probably a nice one, judging from the furnishings and Esme's clothing.

"My husband brought you here. You overdosed and…nearly died." She looked at me kindly but remarkably without judgment. She placed a cool hand on my arm.

"Your husband?" I looked at her curiously. She was reminding me of someone else, something about her eyes.

"Carlisle? You met him in the park a few weeks ago?" I jerked away from her, spilling the tea in my hand.

"I don't want anything to do with you two. Take me home." I saw what was happening. This couple brought me here to take advantage of me or to make me a charity case. I wondered if I was well enough to be at home or if I had to go to the hospital.

"Bella, it's alright. We're not going to hurt you." Her voice was soothing and I wanted to trust her but I didn't know how.

"I don't want…I don't do anything against my will." She looked at me sadly and nodded her head.

"I don't want to take advantage of you. You're sick and need to be taken care of." She got up to walk out of the room. "I'll be right back." I lay there, knowing I was too weak to get out of here on my own, wondering what to do.

She came back in carrying a phone which she plugged into a wall. She set the phone on the nightstand and handed me the receiver.

"You can call the police or a friend to come get you."

She dialed "O" and I could hear the operator. She looked into my eyes and I realized that I could trust her. Maybe not her husband, maybe not anyone else, but I could trust her. I thanked the operator and hung the receiver back up. She smiled at me and stroked her cool hand across my hair. I was so tired I fell asleep again with her hand on my hair.

I woke again later to see the doctor himself. I quickly looked to see if the phone was still on the nightstand.

He laughed and said: "Nice to see you too, Bella." I pulled myself up a little, wincing at the pain in my chest. I put my hand to where it hurt and he pointed to where my hand was.

"That's where I had to administer the adrenaline shot." I looked at him, confusion must have been apparent. "Your heart stopped when you overdosed. I had to restart it. You're not a regular user?"

I shook my head. "I figured as much. You don't have much scarring and you're still pretty healthy. You have a very dangerous lifestyle." He should have sounded like he was lecturing me but somehow it didn't. He was just stating a fact.

"How did you find me?" My voice felt weak from not using it. I wanted to be ascerbic, harsh, but I didn't have the strength.

"I found out where you lived from the diner, I wanted to check on Mr. Dewey since he checked out of the hospital without a forwarding address. I just happened to show up just when your 'friend' was leaving you there to die." It was sinking in. I had died and he had saved me. I wanted Esme. I asked him for her. I must have looked pathetic because he dropped his cool demeanor and looked at me gently.

"She'll be back in a few minutes. Can I get you anything?" I shook my head and rolled away from him. He got the message after a moment and left.

When Esme returned she fed me some more. I wanted to cry but I couldn't let myself. I hadn't cried in front of another person since my grandmother died when I was 8. I fell asleep again and when I woke it was dark.

The door was open and I saw a man standing there. I thought it was Carlisle at first and then I realized that it wasn't. This man was a little taller and had darker hair. And then he disappeared. I don't mean he walked away, I mean, he vanished into thin air. I assumed I was dreaming and closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Her voice had trailed off and she smiled at him. He cocked his head slightly at her and realized that he's had more to drink than he had intended. He had refilled his glass again and again, listening to her story and taking the occasional note, not paying attention to how his mind was becoming fuzzier.

She stood up and he followed her, a mistake in his present condition, because he almost lost his balance. She reached out to stabilize him, her hand on his elbow and he moved slightly closer. She smiled.

"You are ready to call it a night, aren't you?" Her voice was smooth, low, and her eyes, those dark eyes, mesmerized him. He took another step towards her and bent his head down slightly to kiss her. He moved slowly, feeling her breath on his face but as he closed his eyes and had almost reached where her mouth should have been he was hit with another wave of dizziness.

She laughed slightly, "Very flattering, Mr. Geracimos. A different day, who knows? I may have been tempted." He could hear her purring voice but the room was a blur. "But you are in need of a bed and some rest." He felt himself being lifted and moving through the air. Was it possible she was carrying him? She was too small, too delicate. He felt himself being lowered onto a bed and then a cool hand brushed the hair from his forehead and then oblivion.

He awoke with his head aching and the bright light of mid-morning hurting his eyes even through his closed eyelids. He looked around to see an anonymous hotel room, clearly the bedroom of the suite she had met him in. His shoes and jacket had been taken off and he had been placed under the covers. There was a glass of water on the nightstand with some aspirin sitting next to it. He propped himself up to take the aspirin, wincing with each movement of his head. He slumped back onto the bed, groaning.

When Nick was able to open his eyes again he looks around and realized that she was nowhere to be seen. He got up from the bed, wincing as he stood from the pain in his head. He walks out to the common room of the suite. Nothing. She wasn't there. His things were still on the coffee table and there was a laptop computer sitting on a table near the door. He walked back into the bedroom. There was a small suitcase on the stand. She hadn't checked out.

He sat down onto the bed to put his shoes on, working through the pain when he bent down. He was looking for his tie and coat when there was a knock on the door.

"Room service." A voice called loudly from the other side of the door. She must be planning to return soon if she had called for room service. He walked to the door and opened it to see a man who was definitely not room service.

The pale, dark-haired man was at least 6'3", a few inches taller than Nick himself and much wider. He smiled at Nick, his golden eyes taking in his rumpled attire. He wore dark jeans and an expensive looking sweater covered by a leather jacket.

"How you feeling, champ? You smell like your liver had a rough night." The man punched him lightly on the arm and walked past him into the room and sat down on the couch Nick had sat on the night before, putting his feet up on the coffee table. The man patted the couch next to him.

"Come take a seat, champ." Nick looked at the man, processing the situation as quickly as he could, given the fuzziness of his thoughts. Nick shook his head slightly in confusion.

"Oh, I'm being rude." The man got up and leaned over to extend his hand to Nick who took it tentatively. "I'm Emmett. You must be Nick."

"How did you…" Nick frowned at Emmett. He was sure that this situation was on the verge of making sense but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, something obvious.

"Don't sweat it, champ. I'm just curious why you chose to disregard my warning? You think I go to that kind of trouble, having my wife write you a letter of all things, breaking into your place, for fun?" Emmett's words sounded annoyed but he still had that big smile on his face and it seemed like a genuine smile.

"That was you?" Emmett chuckled, shaking his head. "Nick, I'm sure I'm not catching you at your best. You seemed like a smart guy but this morning you're not really firing on all cylinders, huh? You wanna go get a cup of coffee or something?"

"No, I'm, uh…I'm gonna get going." Nick decided to forget about his coat and tie and grabbed his notebook and recorder off of the coffee table. As he pulled his hand back Emmett reached out and grabbed his forearm, firmly. Nick gasped, he hadn't even realized Emmett was that close.

"Nick, I really wish you would reconsider what you're doing. There are things that are dangerous for you to know. She's dangerous for you to know." Emmett looked him in the eye, he was smiling but there was a threat there, Nick could see. He nodded slowly.

"I'll think about what you said, Emmett. I really will." Emmett let go of his arm and nodded slowly, looking at him.

Nick got out of the hotel room as fast as he could.

a/n: Enormous thank you's to EverlastingMuse, my excellent beta, and Liz3615, for pre-reading for me, in addition to being an awesome fanfic-cheerleader! Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. "Howl" belongs to Allen Ginsberg. All the confusing time-line shifts in this thing belong to me. Thanks! JuJu