Chapter pic: bit(dot)ly/sotpm07-pic

Chapter music: bit(dot)ly/sotpm07-music

* There's a "side-take" for this chapter from Esme's POV. (See the outtakes.)

"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"
CHAPTER 07: SYMPATHIZING WITH DEVILS

"When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster?
Did it become something else?"

From "Graceling" by Kristin Cashore

ISABELLA SWAN
I watched as my father faded away, leaving me in the place I'd come to dread. "I don't want to be alone…" I cried out, but it was useless. He was already gone.

The sky was cloudy and cold stone grey, but there was no rain in the clearing this time. The hemlocks and pines stood like sentinels closely fencing me in, caging me, making the clearing small and claustrophobic. Distantly, a haunting piano tune echoed through the trees and outlying mountains, and as branches shifted beneath a gentle breeze, it was as if they were alive and vibrating with the music notes. Even my body seemed to hum with the sound.

I was seated at a long, white table, a silver serving platter before me. There was no food atop it, only a messy, overflowing pile of bills. Those on top were stamped red with various forms of "overdue" or "late notice."

"Can't take the heat, Bells?"

I looked up in surprise, unaware that anyone had joined me. Jacob Black sat at the opposite end of the table now, which had grown smaller since I'd last looked at it. He was within reaching distance, but I kept to myself, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinizing stare.

Bulky and nearly seven feet tall, Jacob was comically large in his chair, the equivalent of a dozen clowns exiting a miniscule circus car. His black hair was cropped short, so unlike the long ponytail he used to keep when we were young and in love.

"Can't take the heat, Bells?" he asked again.

"I don't think I can," I said with a weary laugh. "I'm so tired. I don't know what to do anymore."

Jacob was still talking about the weather. "Heat's not all there is. Maybe you need the cold for a change. Change is good."

"You know I hate the cold." I didn't bother arguing with him that I'd already been in the cold for years now. He was speaking in riddles.

"That's too bad." He looked up at the sky and grinned. It was the grin he'd used when he gave me the promise ring that turned into a lie. I still had it buried deep in my sock drawer, wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away in a Ziploc bag. "It's gonna snow," he said.

True to his word, as if the heavens had obeyed him, snow began to fall in the clearing. It piled up quickly, until my feet were buried ankle deep in fluffy white powder, shackled to the earth by natural chains. Snowflakes stuck on Jacob's tan skin, and then quickly melted, so that he had tiny rivulets of water running down his face. It made him look older. It made it look like he was crying.

Chief Jacob, that's what he looked like, and a world of difference lay between us.

At some point, I became aware that I was dreaming, and I knew how it would go from here. The snow would pile and pile and pile until it reached my knees, hips, waist, breasts, and finally my head. I'd die of hypothermia, of not being able to breathe beneath the weight of powdery ice.

It snowed and snowed.

Jacob had continued to look up at the sky, but when he finally looked back down at me, he wasn't the same Jacob anymore. His face was ghostly blank, as if his spirit had been ripped right out of him, and his chocolate brown gaze was nowhere to be seen.

His left eye was now eagle-golden, alert and trained solely on me. It didn't match the right one, which was coal black, a pupil unnaturally and completely dilated, so that no sliver of iris was left present.

"Jake?" I whispered. I felt the hairs on my arms raise. Danger, a part of me whispered, but it was so quiet, so fleeting with its message, that I simply disregarded it.

He stared, two-toned, but didn't reply.

The snow was beginning to crush me with its hold, but it was surprisingly painless—an almost comforting embrace, rather than a suffocating constriction. I felt the pressure on my lower back—heavy and cool. For once, the cold didn't bother me. Perhaps Jake was right, after all. Maybe it'd be okay to die in the ice.

It stopped snowing suddenly, and Jacob faded, then disappeared from the other end of the table. I expected to miss his hulking form, but I only felt the absence of his body heat. In my heart, I wished him well, but I didn't try to hold onto him—not this time.

Having the snow cover me like this wasn't like drowning. There was no fear or rejection or sadness. It just was. I sat in the cold confines of my snow-cradled chair and breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of trees and crisp, icy air that made my lungs feel big, wide open and healthy. I breathed in and out…

And then I began to fade away, too. I reached out blindly for the hand that I instinctively knew would be there. "Don't go…"

Today was one of those "let's cheer up Bella" days, courtesy of the one and only Alice Cullen. Whenever I called to check on Charlie, if Alice answered the phone, it always turned into some Oprah pep talk session. I was never sure why she gave a shit, but she often did, and I had to grudgingly admit that it was always just when I needed it most. It was like she was fucking psychic.

Alice and I were the same age and had both been at Forks High together, but it was Charlie's cancer that had brought us together. We'd never been close in high school, what with her being a Cullen and me being nothing short of a social retard. I knew her better now, but Charlie knew her more than I did. Alice almost always went to his house in Forks when Esme did, seeing as she was still living at home while building up her design business. Her odd hours made her available, and she was apparently happy to help out and enjoyed my father's company. They had developed their own unique friendship, wherein he was totally wrapped around her dainty pinky finger and took all of his medicine when she was around. I couldn't complain about that.

You wouldn't think Alice would have that kind of power over people. She was a tiny woman with a sprightly build made her deceptively innocent-looking, but she was indeed a force to be reckoned with, and sometimes—no matter how little I actually knew her—I thought I might be wrapped around one of her fingers, too. It wasn't a bad thing, though. I could imagine we might be really good friends, if I ever had a chance to get to know her outside of my father's medical woes and my breakneck attempt to pay his many bills with his laughable pension and my meager paychecks.

For now, she was trying to convince me that I would soon find a job. Having been consistently turned down all last week, I wasn't so fucking confident.

"Everything will work out, Bella. You'll see," she said, her sing-song voice irritatingly optimistic as always. It made me want to hug her and punch her at the same time.

I eventually smiled in spite of my cynicism. She always seemed to really believe in the shit she spouted.

"You're a very glass half full kind of girl," I remarked dryly, the phone wedged between my cheek and shoulder as I looked at my pitiful excuse for a bank balance online. I wasn't sure that I would make rent this month if I didn't get another job soon, and that could soon mean I'd have to move back with Charlie and face his death full-on—and tell him the truth of what I'd been up to since he'd been diagnosed. That was one big shit storm I had no desire to be caught in.

I sighed. It was all well and good for Alice Cullen to tell me not to worry about work and money when her bra probably cost more than what I made last month. The Cullens were filthy rich.

"Just trust me. It'll be fine. You'll find work, and it'll be better than before. I know it." She spoke as if this was the most obvious truth in the world, and I wanted to believe her, but I just couldn't. There was a pause on her end before I heard a familiar beeping in the background, the sound of microwave buttons being pressed.

"Are you heating something?" I asked warily. Esme was practically a culinary artist, but Alice… Well, Alice put a fork in the microwave last time; it had run a little slower ever since then, and I was just waiting for it to die. I worried when it was just Charlie and Alice in the kitchen. They might cook the house down.

Alice giggled, and I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry. I checked to make sure this would be okay!"

I relaxed. "Esme's there, then?"

She hesitated for the slightest of moments, making me suspicious. "Sure."

"Okay… Well, just be careful." At least if she was lying about Esme's being there to keep her kitchen catastrophes at bay, I'd versed her on how to properly put out various fires. She'd been amused by my lecturing, but I thought I got through to her.

"I told you. We're fine. Your dad's fine. It's all good, so just take a breather. We've got you covered on this end."

The Cullens were so good to Charlie and me.

I closed my eyes tightly as tears threatened to fall. "Thanks," I said hoarsely. "You know how sorry I am that I can't be there for him. I know he's quite a lot to handle right now. Oh, Jesus, don't—don't tell him I said that. You know what I mean. Just—yeah, I should be there more, I know. So, well, thank you for being there when I can't be." I sucked at expressing myself verbally at the best of times, and there was no way for me to express just how grateful I was for the Cullens or just how sad I was that I couldn't spend more time with Charlie. That was the worst part.

Even if the chemo worked—an unlikely scenario, given the advanced nature of his lung cancer—we wouldn't get much time together. He'd seen some specialists that had given him horrible projections—a week, a month—but I trusted Carlisle when he said we'd get Charlie through November, maybe December. He said Charlie could have longer, much longer, if the chemo worked—a year, maybe. I was still holding out for that, but I had very little hope as my father got weaker and weaker with each passing Sunday that I visited.

"Stop worrying so much, if you can. It'll work out, Bella," Alice said gently, pulling me from my depressed thoughts. It was uncanny how well she seemed to know me sometimes, given that I only knew her from the Sundays we sometimes spent together at Charlie's.

"Okay," I whispered, but I was still giving myself an ulcer. I couldn't help it.

"Now," she said, her voice becoming cheery once more, "I'll tell Charlie that you said hello when he wakes from his nap, but we should get off the phone. You never know who might try to call you."

"No one calls me but bill collectors."

"Goodbye, Bella. It'll work out!"

Ending the call, I sighed and lay my head down on my desk. The wood felt cold and hard against my forehead, as unforgiving as the pounding headache I'd had for over a day now. I could probably sleep in this awkward position if I could get my mind to shut up for long enough. I was just that fucking tired. I maybe wasn't working sixty hours a week now, but I was spending a lot of time job hunting and worrying. Too bad the latter didn't pay; I'd made worrying a full-time job.

Just as I felt myself dozing off, golden owl eyes swirling in my head, the desk vibrated beneath me as my cell scooted to life across the worn wood. I picked it up. "Hello," I answered. I sounded drunk, and I wished I was.

"Is that you, Swan?"

My eyes widened as I immediately recognized the accent on the other end. I sat up straight. "Um, yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Judy Sanders here—calling to see if you want to take on your shifts again."

"You want me back after everything I did?" I asked incredulously.

Her words came out coarsely and at a mile a minute. "Look, some things happened after you left the day Hal was here, and I'll just say that Hal is getting his ass handed to him over sexual harassment. As he should be. I'm not gonna go into it with you—it isn't my place—but I'll just say I'm not nearly as upset about what you did now. I'm a fucking sadist that way, I know. Anyhow, I need someone in your place and don't have time to train anyone new."

God, how was it possible for someone who was giving you a break to still sound like she was fucking you over? I almost wished I could imitate Judy's Bronxy accent, if only to instill this sort of discomfort in others.

I was perhaps talking her out of giving me my job back, but I had to state the obvious. "I know there are people looking for work, Judy. I'm not the only one taking resumes around Port Angeles. I'm a terrible waitress, as it is. Why on earth would you want me back?"

Judy sighed, and it was the most emotional sound I'd ever heard come out of her that wasn't related to anger or schmoozing customers. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad, Bella?"

My heart skipped a beat. "What?" I asked.

"One of your friends called me yesterday—Angela, I think. Look, I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. You're pretty shit at waiting tables, but you're nice enough, so there haven't ever been many complaints—hardly anymore than usual. But I'm surprised you do as well as you do, what with your dad. Why didn't you just tell me your circumstances? I'm a bitch, I know, but I'm not completely heartless."

"I…" I had no answer. As much as I knew I'd be thanking Angela for this when she got home from her classes later, I was also a little upset. I went to great lengths to separate my work life in Port Angeles from my personal life in Forks. It was the only way I was holding myself together.

Judy continued when I didn't answer. "I know I come off as an asshole sometimes, but believe me…cancer, I get. I also get taking care of a parent. It's a hell of a responsibility, especially for a kid your age." She paused for a moment before adding, "I've been in your shoes. My mother died of breast cancer. She was forty-eight."

I suddenly felt guilty for every mean thing I'd ever thought of Judy, for every time I'd wanted to dump creamed corn on her meaty head. "I'm sorry about your mom," I said softly.

"She was a fucker 'til the end, if you can believe that," she replied with a bitter laugh, and I couldn't help but wonder if her mother was the reason Judy was such a sour woman. I'd probably never know. "Nobody deserves to die that way, though, and if you're caring for your dad and his bills, I get that you aren't at the top of your game and that you really need this job. So we both win if you take your old shifts back. I won't have to train anyone new, and you'll have work."

Overwhelmed by this generous and understanding side of my boss, I only managed a weak "okay," and the conversation ended quickly thereafter, with an agreement that I would be at Hal's in the next hour to step in for another waiter who was getting his braces removed.

Rising from my desk, I still felt exhausted, but I wasn't so afraid or worried now. I'd come full circle when it came to Hal's, but it didn't matter. I would make rent, and I could pay for some of Charlie's medications that the prescription programs he was on didn't cover. It was enough to get by.

What the fuck? Alice was right.

I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. Then I dug in the very back of my personal drawer until I found the little baggy I kept for moments like these—moments where I was exhausted but needed to get my ass into gear. I popped my last Adderall. I'd be alert and focused in no time, taking on the world like a champ.

I'd only ever had ten of the pills to begin with—all shamefully pilfered from Angela's little brother Isaac, who had ADHD. I'd thought about taking more every time I'd been at the Weber's house, particularly when babysitting her bratty twin brothers, but I decided against it. Addictions were expensive. This was a sometimes thing, for when I was exhausted and needed to keep going.

By the time I made it to Hal's at half past two, I was wide awake and ready to work. I strolled into the restaurant, focused on one task: do my job and do it well. God, I love speed.

Thankfully, Judy didn't bring up my personal life while at work. In fact, she was really just the same ass-riding bitch I was familiar with. The familiarity was somehow comforting.

I'd been working for two out of my five hours and was beginning to smell like barbeque pork when none other than Edward Masen walked in, a pale hand raking through his messy hair as he came through the door. With bluesy country music playing throughout the restaurant, he looked incredibly out of place.

Performance-enhancing drugs or no, I nearly fucking lost it at the sight of him and just barely saved the large tray of food I was holding.

Un-fucking-believable.

Edward had my head spinning to the point that I was seriously beginning to wonder what was and wasn't reality. The day I'd met him, I actually had a few moments where I believed he was…otherworldly. It wasn't just his godlike beauty that had made me wonder, but the way he had looked at me from across the table with what I remembered to be black eyes; the way his long legs had seemed to blur as he swept himself out of Gary and Ian's kitchen like a man on the run. It was the strangest morning of my life.

But as time had passed, I'd begun to wonder… Had it happened like I was remembering it? After all, I'd lost my job the day before, had a lot to drink that night and very little sleep on top of it. My mind definitely could have been playing tricks on me.

Then there was seeing him at the bookshop Friday, which I'd not been able to explain away as easily. He supposedly lived here, too. What were the odds? I didn't think I believed in a god or fate or anything, so I had to ask myself, was it a coincidence that we just kept finding ourselves in the same places at the same times?

All of it was a little strange—the way I'd caught Edward reading the exact same poem I had read, the way he'd stayed at the bookshop longer than was normal and watched me when he thought I wasn't paying any attention. I could have sworn when he caught me, when he saved me from breaking my neck, that he'd been on the other side of the room. And, of course, he'd run away again.

Charlie would tell me to alert people around me of a possible stalker, to call the cops if I felt the least bit unnerved, to fight back if I was held captive and to use the pepper spray (that was in my closet, collecting dust). But the funny thing was…as strange and unlikely as it was seeing Edward again and again, I wasn't afraid. I was intrigued. I was drawn in, like one of Charlie's hooked fish.

Passing my laden tray off to another waiter, I strode straight to the front of Hal's. Edward met my gaze as if he'd expected me. His eyes were honey brown this afternoon, neither golden nor black. Contacts? A tentative half-smile pulled at his lips.

"Hello again, Bella," he said in that smooth voice that seemed to drip over me like hot oil. Edward was far too handsome for his own good—or my own good, depending on how I looked at it.

I frowned at him, forcing myself to stay focused. How could he possibly think he was going to just show up around me again and not explain himself?

Around us, the air seemed to crackle with energy, with things unsaid, with baffling appeal. I felt him all around me—infiltrating my mind until at times he was all I thought about, appearing around me in unlikely places.

I grabbed a menu from a holder and began walking toward a booth. "Follow me," I said. I looked over my shoulder at him. "Or is that what you've already been doing?"

As he folded his lanky body into the booth I'd led him to, I saw his eyes widen in surprise for the briefest of moments before a cool, calm mask descended. "I'm just as surprised to see you here. We keep running into each other, don't we?" he said with a small chuckle.

I didn't buy it.

"Why do you think that is?" I asked as I fumbled with my apron to grab my pad and pen. I dropped the pen in the process, where it proceeded to roll beneath Edward's table. "Sorry," I said, but by the time I bent to grab it, he was holding it out to me.

"Thanks," I murmured, staring at the uncapped pen in confusion. Sometimes he seemed to move so fast… Or maybe you're just fucking slow.

"You're welcome," he said as he shifted farther to the inside of the booth, as if pulling away from me. He looked at me intently, serenely, but I couldn't help but notice the rigid way he sat, as if he was uncomfortable and preparing to bolt out of the restaurant at any given moment.

I tapped the pen on the little square pad in my left hand. "So you didn't know I worked here? You just happened to come to Hal's? How come I've never seen you here before?"

As if holding back a smile, his lips twitched. "It's called trying something new," he said in an obnoxious tone. "I needed a change. Should I have asked for permission? I didn't know I couldn't visit new restaurants without speaking to you first."

For a moment, I thought he was being an asshole, but then I noticed the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners. He was teasing me—and I was silently thrilled by that, even as I felt my face blossom red.

"Well, now you do," I said with a laugh, teasing him back and beginning to wonder if my feelings really were ridiculous after all. "You have to ask about bookshops, too."

As I looked at the perfect man before me, I had to wonder if I wasn't just dreaming him up entirely. Maybe I'd hit my head. Maybe I was in a coma. After all, hadn't I wondered several times since we met if his sort of make-me-weak-in-the-knees beauty was even possible? But if this was all a dream, why the fuck were we in Hal's, of all places, and why did he have clothes on?

Thinking about this man naked…I'd been thinking about that a lot, really, much more than was rational, considering I'd only seen him twice before.

"It's just weird that you're here," I blurted out.

Putting his menu down, he leaned his elbows on the table, and then propped his chin up in his right palm. He smiled brilliantly at me, flashing just enough of his shiny white teeth. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing else in the room—in the world—other than us, right then. "I just came for dinner," he said. His voice was smooth and sweet like honey, and I immediately got trapped in it like a fly.

The room was suddenly very warm.

"Now, I'd like you to take my order," he said slowly.

"Okay," I heard myself say. I blinked. I felt…hazy, a little drunk.

How shallow. I was literally charmed by his good looks. Whatever happened to the whole "don't just a book by its cover" spiel?

"I'll have…water and a sixteen-ounce T-Bone—perhaps?" Edward said, interrupting my straying thoughts.

I shook my head a little, forcing myself out of my stupor. "Um, yeah, okay. How do you want the steak cooked?"

He seemed to grimace slightly. "How rare can you go?"

I laughed. "Well, I can't bring you the cow, if that's what you're hoping for."

"That's too bad, really."

Typical man. "We'll do blue rare, though. That's nice and bloody," I said sarcastically. "It's still cool in the middle."

He frowned. "What about rare?"

"It's warm in the middle. Still basically mooing, though."

I watched as he swallowed hard. "All right. I'll have that, then."

"And for sides?"

"Surprise me," he mumbled.

As I made my way over to Edward's table, red blood swirled around the dinner plate I held, mixing in with the mashed potatoes and salad in a culinary kaleidoscope of color.

"Here you go," I said as I very gingerly put his plate beside the water I'd brought earlier. I was being careful tonight, hoping against hope that I'd never spill anything again. Judy had already banned me from handling the coffeepot. The last thing I needed to do was pour anything else on unsuspecting crotches.

Stop thinking about his crotch.

When I finally looked at Edward, I saw he was leaning awkwardly to one side of his booth—this time toward the outside—his arms folded tightly across his chest, hands buried beneath armpits. He looked distraught. "Are you okay?" I asked hesitantly.

He nodded his head toward the window beside the booth, where bright orange light from was streaming through the glass. Sunset was sometimes the only time you saw good sunlight in Forks and Port Angeles. "The afternoon sun's getting to me, actually. Migraines. May I be re-seated?"

"Of course." I took his plate again and led him to one of the more centrally-placed tables, far out of the sun's rays. "That better?" I asked once he was situated.

He smiled gratefully. "Yes. This is perfect." He then scowled at his dinner plate; I wasn't sure why, as it looked fine to me, though I'd never eat meat that rare.

I watched him for a moment, thinking. He did seem like a very strange man, and I maybe didn't believe his story of just randomly coming to Hal's, but I still wasn't afraid of him—not yet, at least. Strange or not, he just didn't seem the stalking type, especially as he glared daggers at his salad. He was a pianist, for crying out loud. Composers didn't go around pulling women into dark alleys to kill them!

I heard Charlie grumping in my head. It's always the ones you least expect. And that was true enough, I guessed, thinking of Tyler Crowley.

But I wasn't afraid of Edward, not even when two hours passed and he was still there. In fact, the longer I felt his presence in the restaurant, the more I wanted to get to know him. I just didn't know how to approach that desire and make it into a reality. Then I scoffed. As if I had time or money for a personal life.

I felt his eyes on me, occasionally caught him staring, just as I had in the bookstore. His gaze made me so giddy and self-conscious that it took all my Adderall-enhanced focus to keep from tripping all over myself, but it was a welcome change to the tired march I usually forced myself into. I felt alive under his stare.

Edward hardly drank or ate anything, but as my shift drew to an end at a quarter past seven, he smilingly requested the check and a "to go" box. I saved his table for the last one I'd deal with of the day, just in hopes of having a few extra minutes with him.

"Was the food not okay?" I asked as I helped him shovel cold, drying chunks of potatoes into the Styrofoam container. I frowned at the bloody, hardly-touched steak. "I'm not sure how well something this rare will keep…" Judy would have my ass if we got sued, because I let someone walk out of here with spoiled food.

"The food was fine," Edward said, and I knew by his tone that he was lying. "And it will be fine, I'm sure. I'm just taking what's left to Lucky."

I smiled in relief as I remembered the yellow, scraggly dog that Edward had so affectionately petted in the backyard of The Rosebud. At least someone would enjoy the food.

Edward watched me closely as I next moved the steak into the container. I was blushing like crazy, my hands shaking, the hairs on my arms raised in anxious alarm.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked quietly. I barely heard him at all over the loud hum of dinnertime conversation. I was very glad that I'd miss most of that tonight.

"You do a bit," I admitted with a shaky laugh. The Styrofoam squeaked noisily as I closed the box.

"I'm honestly not trying to, if you can believe that."

And I did believe it.

I realized my scar was showing and looked away to move a loose curl over it. "You're just very strange," I replied, and I was grinning. There were worse things to be.

He frowned. "You don't know the half of it."

"Why don't you tell me, then?" My voice came out small and shy, a bare whisper, but somehow he heard me.

His frown gave way to a very hesitant, soft smile. "I'm not sure how much I would talk about myself, but I would love to see you again and get to know you."

Oh my God, is he asking me out? No, no, can't be…

He smirked. "Besides, if we don't, I'm sure we'll just keep bumping into each other like this."

I took a steadying breath and arched a brow. "Seems like we might."

"Friday, then," he said, rubbing at his stubbly jaw and neck with a hand.

"Oh." I sighed. "I wasn't working my usual shift at the bookstore last Friday. I actually don't get off until nine that night."

"Are you opposed to late nights?"

Not with you. "I don't sleep much," I answered with what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"Neither do I," he said. He grinned devilishly, and my heart spluttered and stuttered. "So shall I pick you up at Books & News for a late dinner and movie on Friday, then?"

Definitely a date!

I nodded and bit at my lip, more than a little speechless. No one had asked me out since Jacob and I had broken up; there had been the occasional awkward flirting, but that was as far as anything had gone. To have this flawless specimen of the human species ask me out was almost overwhelming.

We awkwardly exchanged cell numbers, and then with his bill paid—and me tipped much more than was normal, though I wasn't about to complain—Edward rose from the table. As near as he was to where I stood by the table, he towered above me. We were very close, and he seemed to realize it, too. I watched his nostrils slightly flare as he pulled in a deep breath. "Shall I walk you to your car?" he asked. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

I looked at him in surprise. "Hey, how do you know I'm off work?" I asked accusingly.

He laughed, and a whisper of his somehow intoxicatingly sweet scent washed over me. "You've removed your work apron. I just assumed…"

I blushed and looked away. "Oh." God, Charlie's made me paranoid, too, it seems.

Edward just shook his head, grabbed his leftovers, and with his hand on the small of my back, led me outside. I noticed that he stopped briefly at the entranceway, grabbing one of the free real estate circulars that were kept in a wire basket; he folded it in half and stuffed it in a back pocket of his jeans.

For a moment, we were heading directly toward my Honda, but then Edward stopped abruptly and asked, "Where's your car?"

"It's just over there," I said, pointing out the gray vehicle with the worn "make love, not war" bumper sticker. I'd never been able to remove it when I'd bought the car via Craigslist.

Turning out to be quite the old-school gentleman, Edward opened my car door. Once I was seated, he leaned over the door, arms folded along the roof of the car. "Friday, nine on the dot."

I nodded.

He smiled gently, his eyes light and tawny—age old owl eyes in the half-light of evening—and I watched as a breeze tossed his red-brown hair. Even in the strange lighting afforded by parking lot streetlamps, he was heart achingly handsome.

"Have a good night, Bella," he said in a whisper.

"You, too, Edward."

He closed my door, and with one sigh, the bubble he'd created burst, and the fantasy fell away. I was thrust back to my reality.

But now I had Friday to look forward to.

By Friday, I was ready to fucking explode from all the anticipation. Sitting on a stool in front of the mirror of our tiny bathroom for an hour was really beginning to grate my nerves, too. My leg hopped up and down of its own accord.

"This is stupid," I grumbled to Angela as she straightened another lock of my hair. "I have a seven-hour shift. I'm going to look like crap by nine, no matter what voodoo you're working back there."

Angela shook her head at me. "Don't be so negative."

"Maybe it's more that everyone around me is so damn positive?" I argued.

Her lips twitched with an oncoming grin. "Be good, I'm the one with the hot iron here."

I worried at my lip for a moment while we were both silent. "Ang, do you think it's okay for me to go out tonight?"

"What do you mean?" She looked at me in the mirror, the flat iron held away from me for the moment. "You aren't worried about Edward, are you? He's not creepy or anything, right?"

"No, no, it's not that." At least I hoped not. "I mean…is it okay? Going out at all. I mean, Charlie's so sick, and I'm working about fifty-five hours a week… I should really focus on—"

"Stop it. You're not getting engaged tonight, Bella. It's one innocent date."

I blushed slightly. "I know that, but I just feel like I'm not being responsible."

Placing the flat iron on the vanity, Angela picked up a comb and began running it through my hair. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of the comb teeth as they grazed along my scalp. "You worry too much about taking care of other people sometimes," Angela said gently. "Sometimes you need to take care of you. That doesn't make you selfish, either." Though she didn't say that I needed to do that because Charlie would be dead soon, I knew that was an unspoken thought. You can't live for others. A number of people had told me that.

The thing was, I wasn't all that sure of how to live for myself. It's surprisingly easy to forget when you haven't done it in a long time.

"There. Done!" I watched Angela's smile in the mirror as she stepped back to examine my hair. She held a hand mirror up to the back for me to see what she had done. She'd left most of it down, but gathered a small section in a little bun that I'd never have been able to do myself.

It looked good, even if the rest of me was plain. "Thanks, Ang," I said as I pulled one wisp free to cover my unsightly scar.

Work at Books & News dragged ass until 8:57 p.m., when the door opened, letting in a chilly breeze and one mildly-disheveled Edward. With his hair blown slightly back, it looked like he'd recently been running against the wind. I was frozen where I stood as I smiled at him.

He came to stand on the other side of the register, several feet between us. He breathed deeply, swallowed and let out a sigh. His eyes were dark. "Ready, Ms. Swan?"

I rolled my eyes. "I believe so, Mr. Masen." I called out a farewell to my boss Samantha and joined Edward by the front door.

"How does Bella Italia sound?" Edward asked with a smirk as we exited the bookstore.

I smirked back. "It sounds closed at nine."

His face fell. "You're joking."

I shook my head with a laugh. "Nope."

"What's open then?"

"Don't you know? This is your town, too," I teased. Part of me still wondered if he really was from Port Angeles. But what reason could he have for lying?

"I cook at home."

Of course he fucking cooked! Maybe that's why he was disappointed in Hal's food. He could do better. God. A gorgeous, musical chef…every girl's wet dream. I imagined Edward in a kitchen, one of his highly-acclaimed pieces playing on a stereo, a "kiss the cook" apron hanging from his neck as he handled cucumbers, carrots and several other phallic symbols. "There's a McDonald's down the road," I answered finally.

Edward scowled as we got into his ridiculously ostentatious car. I noticed with some amusement a dirty paw print on my seat.

As it turned out, he had somehow never eaten at McDonald's, as proven by the way the heavy, greasy scent in the restaurant really annoyed him from the second we stepped inside, when a hilarious, strangled gagging sound erupted from his throat. I wasn't sure how a child of the eighties could possibly avoid having eaten here at least once, but I sort of envied him that as I chewed my suspect meat patty and over-sweetened bread. Edward refused to buy anything for himself and unsuccessfully tried to talk me out of what I was eating. We kept the conversation light, and I ate quickly, so we'd make a ten o'clock showing.

The cinema was just a short drive from McDonald's. It was old-timey, with a yellowed marquee at its front. Edward asked me as we strolled toward the ticket booth, "What would you like to see? I've heard good things about Burn After Reading."

As I looked to see what was playing, I realized just how long it had been since I'd been to the movies. I didn't even have a clue what was playing, really.

"Oh! Let's see The Last Descent. If you want…" At his lifted brow, I explained with a grin, "I think that one's a zombie movie."

He shook his head and smirked. "You don't strike me as the type, but I'm fine with seeing that."

"Oh? And what do you think my type should be?" Reel it in, I thought. I was horrible at flirting.

"Anything but horror," he said with a small, hollow laugh as he bought our tickets. "I can't say I understand the desire to be afraid, though many seem to be rather fond of it."

For a Friday night, the theater was glaringly empty. Thank fuck it's zombies and not some chick flick we're watching. I didn't think I could handle seeing sex scenes with Edward beside me, not when we were all alone.

And then my mind was on sex. Good job, Bella.

Sometimes it seemed like life would've been much easier if I'd never given my virginity to Jacob. For one, I wouldn't really know what I was missing out on. I sighed, keenly aware of how Edward's leg would be touching mine if he'd lean juuust a bit closer.

"Film is not what it used to be," Edward opined with a frown a moment later, completely oblivious to the fact that I was doing all sorts of naughty things to him in my head. I hummed in agreement, because I'd actually not paid any attention to what was being previewed.

Edward rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a long finger. "But then, I suppose sex sells better than anything else sometimes."

Is it conservative or progressive of him that he's discussing sex in the media?

Well, we could have had a good, intellectual discussion about it at that moment, but my brain was fairly stuck on his use of the word "sex." Say it again, Mr. Piano Man. Say it again.

But he didn't, and the movie started, and after the first time of jumping at the sight of a fast-running zombie, my body stopped feeling like it was burning in a lust-induced fire. It started up again, though, when Edward rested his arm along the back of my seat. Seeing a zombie randomly vomit in a warehouse corner took care of that, though.

As far as zombie movies went, The Last Descent could have been a lot worse. It started out typically enough; a virus had turned humans into zombies, and the United States—it was always the United States, of course—had been declared a disaster area. People were evacuating land areas, going by boat and helicopter to the few islands that remained uninfected. The worst of the outbreak was in the deep south, where the survivors were fighting their own way to safety. With the outbreak being so bad in the area, no one was coming to help survivors evacuate; they were on their own. I thought it might all be a metaphor for what happened during Hurricane Katrina, but I didn't want to give a zombie movie too much credit.

The survivors the movie focused on made their way to a series of boathouses, in hopes of escaping. When they arrived at the first boathouse, they found it empty and planned to run on to the next one. Unfortunately, one of the two remaining survivors, the male lead, Ellis, hurt his ankle badly; only one of them would make it to the next boathouse fast enough. Rather than try to survive without him, Ellis' girlfriend, Rochelle, the other survivor, stayed with him to the end.

It had a depressing ending. The screen faded out on a huddled up Ellis and Rochelle as they hid in the boathouse, waiting for their inevitable demise. Zombie growls echoed at the start of the credits.

"I'm sorry. That was an awful film," Edward said as we exited the cinema.

I shrugged. "I didn't mind it," I said. "The dialogue could have been better, but I liked the ending."

He looked at me incredulously "How could you possibly like the ending? That was the worst part."

"I liked that they stayed together, no matter what."

"It was selfish of Ellis," Edward argued.

"Selfish? He was injured!"

"He should have insisted Rochelle go on."

I rolled my eyes at him. "That's silly. Even if she did go on, there might not be another boat, and then she'd just die alone." And no one wants to die alone.

"Or there might be help at the next boathouse—other survivors—that she'd be able to return with to save Ellis. Maybe no one would have died."

I snorted. "Or maybe everyone would have. Anyway, I think it's nice that they were together." I grinned. "It's gotta be real love, if you're willing to die in the zombie apocalypse together."

"Their actions seem absurd to me."

I rolled my eyes at him again, resisting the deep-set urge to stick out my tongue. "You're impossible." I bumped my hip against the side of his thigh. He muscle was hard like concrete, or maybe I was just tired and dreaming it. "Anyway, don't steal my thunder. I liked it." In fact, it was possible I liked the movie even more, now that I knew he didn't. That was definitely a streak of Charlie's stubbornness, if there ever was one.

We turned a corner, and I realized for the first time since we'd exited the theater that we hadn't gone directly to Edward's car. The new block wasn't as well lit as the last one, but as Edward walked beside me, I knew I was completely safe. I sighed, content. It felt so oddly wonderful to be able to relax, even if it was just for tonight.

"I don't mind zombies, really," I said in passing as we continued to walk.

Edward looked down at me a moment later, clearly frustrated that I'd not elaborated. "And?" he prompted.

"Well, I just don't think they're as bad as we make them in horror movies. They kind of get a bad rap, like aliens do."

"They eat brains and flesh, Bella," Edward said in a deadpan voice.

"Sure, sure," I relented, "but they're just doing what their nature tells them to do."

Edward stopped beneath a streetlamp and turned to me. Looking down at me as he was, with the light shining bright and harsh above him, he appeared ghostly. Dark circles beneath his eyes were matched by the shadows cast by the bone beneath his brow until even the whites of his eyes were just green-gray in the shadow. "So what you're saying is that you can't really blame monsters for their behavior? Just forgive them for their nature, is that it?"

"Pretty much." I shrugged.

"You can't possibly see it that way. That's disgusting," he hissed. He raked both of his hands through his hair, pulling at it with clutching fingers.

Jesus, he's taking this seriously. "Calm down," I said, laughing softly. I couldn't believe he was going over the deep-end over some B-grade zombie movie. "It's just a movie. You didn't even like it."

But he didn't let the matter go, and as he spoke, I had an unexpected glimpse of a vulnerable man, a broken one. He glared at me. "Is that really what you think? That it's all right, simply because there's a fucking excuse? Is that what you think of rapists who walk around at night and take girls just like you? They're mentally ill, so it's all right; they're drunk, so they can't help it; they're angry, so let them? Christ!"

I could have argued with him, could have told him to stop putting words in my mouth, but my heart ached too much to see him this way. He was really upset, almost panicked seeming. I wanted to reach for him, but it didn't seem wise for the moment. I didn't even fully understand what was happening. "Edward…" I pleaded.

But he didn't stop. His whole body was stock still as his voice shook with a rage that seemed to be eating at his belly, only to go up through his chest and loose itself from his lips.

"And then there are murderers, Isabella," he continued. "Bloodthirsty killers who ruin lives and families, who take children from their parents, mothers from their children. Men who kill their wives, women who slaughter their newborns… You have no idea of the world you live in—how unjust it can be."

I swallowed hard, holding back tears—unsure of whether I was crying for him or me or just life in general. "I probably understand better than you think I do."

"There are more monsters in this world than you can imagine," Edward said brokenly. "Some you've not even begun to imagine." His whole body slumped forward a little then, the weight of his words pressing in on him in some way was beyond my understanding.

I had the feeling that neither of us understood the other.

We both had secrets, it seemed.

"Edwa—"

"You're shivering," he interrupted, immediately removing his jacket. He shoved it toward me awkwardly, keeping some distance between us.

I slipped on the oversized jean jacket. It was just as cool as the airy night breeze around. "Jeez, could've warmed it up for me," I said with a watery grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn't laugh. "I have a medical condition," he said, and my heart skipped a beat at the words. "It causes circulatory problems."

"You should be wearing this, then." I started to shrug back out of the material. Why couldn't I just have my old barn jacket? It'd gone missing this past Monday.

He shook his head, frowning. "Keep it on, Bella. Don't be stubborn, please."

The walk back to his car was awkward and silent, and the drive to my home—necessary, since Angela had dropped me off at work today—was tense. I huddled into the corner of the passenger's side, wrapping myself up in Edward's jacket as cold air blew through his open driver's side window. I'd normally ask him to close it, but the fresh air seemed to calm him a little.

How had such a good night taken a turn like this?

When we arrived at my house, he walked me to my door and gave me a sad, lopsided smile. "I enjoyed tonight, Bella." He sounded defeated, as if he'd lost some important battle—with what or whom, I didn't know.

Again, I wanted to reach for him.

Again, I didn't.

"I enjoyed it, too," I said. Mostly, I did.

His head tilted as he looked at me beneath the porch floodlight. "You looked lovely tonight."

I didn't, really, but I forced a smile to my face.

Without saying goodbye, he turned and walked back to his car. There were no kisses goodnight, and with a pain in my chest, I wondered if I'd ever see Edward Masen again.

Author's Notes (August 18, 2010): For the one or two of you who play video games (come out of the closet already!), you may recognize my geeky hat tip to the first person shooter "Left 4 Dead 2." If you play the PC version on Steam, PM me your username, and we'll massacre some zombies together.

Special thanks to duskwatcher2153 and Aleeab4u for all their help. I was so nervous about this chapter, and they both helped me improve it, while also encouraging me!

Author's Notes (January 25, 2011): Cleaning house / editing.