Newton was fucking late, as usual, and his tardiness just caused me to grow more nervous and pissed off.
I didn't sleep well the night before; the same old nightmares kept waking me up in a cold sweat. That shrink I had back then was a crackpot and full of shit. The dreams never went away. I never got 'desensitized' to them. They were still as vivid as ever. Sometimes I went days without quality sleep and often resorted to drinking myself silly or taking sleeping pills just to give myself a few hours of crappy, dreamless slumber.
Mike strolled in with coffee and came straight to my cubicle. "So what's up? Where are we going?"
I growled and looked down at my watch. The asshole shrugged in response, a smile playing at his lips. The exchange gave me a minute to think; I didn't even know how to preface my thoughts. Frankly, I didn't even know what I was going to say to the doctor or Edward, or how I was going to convince Newton I hadn't gone off the deep end with my crackpot theories. I had nothing but intuition and coincidence to go on. I was basically hoping to get to the house and see or hear something suspicious, or catch one of them in an outright lie, so I could legitimately question him.
I didn't want to say much to Mike; I could see him taking charge of the situation and scaring away my only lead.
"I want to go over to the Cullen's and talk to the doctor and his son. They have medical and forensic backgrounds, maybe they've thought of something we haven't." I tried to make the suggestion seem natural and nonchalant, but I knew I was grasping at straws, and that he'd call me out on it.
He made a Bronx cheer and waved me off. "C'mon, Swan, we've got a great forensic team—they're the best. I mean, I'm sure the doc is great, but don't you think he'd come forward if he thought of something that might help a murder investigation?"
I scowled, feeling the lines forming on my brow. "Probably, and I know our Tech Unit is the best, but my goddamn conscience can't bear the lack of progress anymore. We've got four families awaiting a conviction—hell, an arrest—in the murder of their loved ones. It won't hurt to seek out the doctor's opinion."
Mike raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer, dropping his voice. "So, what, you're going to give him details of the case? Swan, that's against protocol."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Did he think I was a dumbass? "No, just what's already out there in the media. Look, Newton, if you don't want to ride along, I'll ask Crowley." I folded my arms and waited, knowing full well that he couldn't resist someone else stealing his thunder.
"Don't get your panties in a wad, I'll go."
Thirty minutes later, Mike and I turned off the main highway near Lake Lakoma and drove down a long, narrow, private road. Weaving through the trees, the driveway eventually gave way to a vast clearing where a large, colonial home stood strong and proud, and tall firs and swaying birches dotted the property. The lawn was beautifully manicured and the flowerbeds featured perfect rosebushes with the open blossoms stretching upward toward the bright sun. As Mike advanced up the drive that bowed into a half-circle before the house, my heart rate accelerated, and I was almost overcome by my own nerves. I nearly told him to turn around, but the hope that those cases could be solved was insatiable.
I just didn't know what I would find inside this house.
He stopped the car at the apex of the drive. "Ready?"
I nodded affirmatively, gathering the manila folder with some evidence photos and reports. I didn't know how much info I would be able to give the doctor, but I needed to keep up with the charade.
As I climbed out of Newton's car, I noticed the utter silence on the property. The wind was still, no birds called, and the house appeared as closed up as a tomb despite the beautiful and sunny late summer day.
We walked up the sidewalk lined with petunias toward the front door. Mike stepped up on the flagstone porch, ringing the bell. My heart was in my damn throat, and I counted the seconds since Mike pressed the doorbell.
One one-thousand.
Two one-thousand.
Three one-thousand.
Four—
Before I got to five, the door opened, and a young couple stood well inside the threshold. I tried to identify them in my mind based on the minimal information Angela had given me. I was still expecting to see the old man with the old-fashioned headband and mirror, but these people were too young to be parents to adult children! Both of them were insanely beautiful, like Edward, and immaculately dressed in something from a summer collection designer runway show. The doctor wore a crisp white oxford and navy pants, and the woman at his elbow was wearing a wrap dress with butterfly sleeves. They bore mildly curious expressions behind their gold eyes as though they'd mistaken a song lyric or the name of a book.
"Yes?" the man questioned, the tone of his voice barely acknowledging the question he asked.
I forced myself to swallow as I tore my eyes away from the golden gaze that was so unlike his son's. Nevertheless, because of his unnaturally good looks and uniquely colored irises, I had no doubt that I was at the right house?
"A-are you Dr. Carlisle Cullen?" I stammered, fighting to drag my gaze away from his. Jesus, how old was I, five? This wasn't my first day of kindergarten, I was a cop. I had to pull some inner strength from somewhere and grow a set of ovaries.
"Yes." His answer was oddly affirmative, unquestioning. Most people answered with a cautious, guarded "Yes?"
"I'm Detective Swan, this is Detective Newton, we're from the Rochester P.D. We were wondering if we could step inside and ask you a few questions."
"Of course," the doctor answered calmly, smiling as if I were a Girl Scout asking him to buy fucking cookies, instead of a detective asking to come into his home for questioning.
He and the woman stepped back as they opened the door and invited us inside. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Esme," he said, gesturing to the beautiful brunette at his side. I was a sucker for old movies, and she looked like Rita Hayworth with her soft, caramel-colored waves. Her smile was welcoming and her eyes were kind. I nodded in polite reply. Mike ogled.
We stepped past the foyer and were politely ushered into a formal living room where four other people sat in quiet repose. They didn't look up when we entered the room, keeping their statuesque poses.
Two men played chess in the back corner; both were leaning quite far over the board, calculating their next move. Two women also occupied the room—a blonde leafing lazily through a fashion magazine and a brunette drumming her fingers on her knee as she listened to an iPod.
The scene was perfect, too perfect, as though a photographer had set up the perfect fucking scene of an idyllic, modern, suburban life. Even the players were ideal; their beauty was just ungodly lovely.
Instantly, I noticed that Edward was nowhere to be seen.
"Please come in," the doctor said, gesturing for us to sit in any of the remaining seats on the plush, beige couches. "Emmett, Jasper, Rosalie, and Alice, this is Detective Swan and Detective Newton. Detectives, these are our adopted children."
I smiled nervously, surprised when they all looked up at the same moment. Four pairs of amber, lamp-like eyes, appraising me.
"G-good morning." I stammered as Newton and I took a seat on the edge of the loveseat. Christ, the five-year-old was back. Would I always be just a scared little girl?
Each of them politely smiled, nodded, or replied, no sign of concern or curiosity on their faces whatsoever. As if it were every day that a detective visited their home. They excused themselves without being asked, filing out of the formal sitting room one after another.
This was so strange!
"How can we help you today, Detectives?" Dr. Cullen asked, sitting on the arm of the couch while Esme stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders.
I swallowed and looked around, taking in the drawn curtains with a furrowed brow. Who closes the curtains on a sunny day? The atmosphere was tense and awkward. Damn Newton was always a big mouth, why was he quiet as a tomb today?
"Well, Detective Newton and I are investigating the serial murders here in Rochester, and we wondered if perhaps we could speak to you and your son."
The doctor didn't react at all. No sign of surprise or shock, no denial at being able to help—nothing. Were they just that weird? It was like they'd been tipped off or knew each question I was about to ask! Hell, some people would have demanded a lawyer by this point!
"Which son would that be?" he finally asked, his eyes darting toward the stairs to the home's second story.
"Edward," I replied, my eyes shifting down to the folder in my lap and back to his gaze. I wondered if he lived here as there was no listing for an Edward Cullen in the phone book; I'd looked last night when I couldn't sleep. "I understand he has some forensic knowledge and your medical background might be helpful too."
There was no dawning of realization upon his face, no understanding that he was not being questioned as a suspect. I don't know what I expected: relief, confusion, curiosity, some emotion to flicker across his countenance, but there was nothing! Stone fucking cold.
Esme disappeared wordlessly and ascended the stairs.
Carlisle nodded as if in agreement with our proposal. "Why don't we meet in the dining room?"
He led us through the house; each room was immaculate and beautifully decorated, and I couldn't help but gawk a little. It was the kind of home everyone dreamt of owning one day.
I traipsed into the dining room behind the doctor and passed by the chair he'd pulled away from the table.
"Detective Swan," he said politely, showing his genteel manners. Both the tone of his voice and the extended chair at the head of the table indicated where I should sit.
I blushed instantly as I plopped down in the chair I'd already taken for myself. "Erm, sorry, sir," I mumbled, as I placed the file folder in front of me, upsetting the meticulously straight table runner. It felt like my face was on fire. Why didn't I just take the proffered chair?
The doctor's face fell, and he was left slack-jawed. The expression didn't fit his beautiful face somehow; perhaps he wasn't surprised often, or accustomed to a serious lack of manners by his guests. If possible, I felt even worse for my faux pas.
"Hey, thanks, Doc!" Newton replied, clapping him on the shoulder as he took the chair that was intended for me.
I quickly smoothed the runner as the doctor attempted to mask his shock or offense or whatever it was, and contemplate where he should sit.
I had done a pretty decent job of keeping my fear at bay so far. It was unfounded really, what did I honestly think this Edward guy would have done yesterday? It wasn't like he'd attack me in a coffee shop. What was he going to do, throttle me with a newspaper? He didn't even have hot coffee to throw in my face. And even though I wasn't sure if I would meet Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde today, the son of a prominent doctor wasn't going to attack two armed officers in the family home. Right?
I anticipated the creak of a stair, shuffling feet, or hushed whispers to announce Edward's entrance to the room, but the silence that accompanied him troubled me even more than his pitiless expression did.
His eyes did not meet mine when I looked up at him, my heart racing, and breath shallow.
Instead, he looked at his father, the anger evident in his expression. Nevertheless, he was still absolutely beautiful. A dark angel. The scowl looked so out of place in the beautiful home. Anyone who lived here had no reason to sulk.
Without a word, Edward seated himself across from me and sighed as his hand covered his eyes and his fingers squeezed his temples. I took the opportunity to simply stare at him as he hid behind his folded hands. His skin was just as pale as I remembered it, the same purple half moons under his eyes, and the same hair I was dying to sink my fingers into.
My heart was fairly racing now, and I wouldn't be surprised if others in the dining room could hear it. I was like a damn pre-pubescent girl.
"Detectives Swan and Newton, this is my son, Edward. Edward, these officers are investigating the recent serial murders in town and were wondering if our expertise might be helpful."
I was glad for the doctor's introduction, because what the hell was I going to say? Um, I saw your kid at the café yesterday, and he scared the living bejesus out of me, so I invented this cockamamie plan to investigate your family.
"Surely the RPD is most capable of solving the case on their own," Edward replied sullenly, folding his hands as his eyes zoned in on the tabletop. His voice was smooth and drawled in all the right places.
I bristled a little. Of course we were capable of solving the case. We were also smart enough to use all available resources, especially if it helped net a criminal who may or may not be sitting at this table.
My infinitesimal strength and confidence were gone suddenly, and I stumbled to find my voice.
"T-the d-department is not above seeking outside assistance if it helps keep Rochesterians safe and ends this rash of violence, Mr. Cullen. If you don't wish to participate, that is well within your rights."
I paused, waiting for him to look up or offer some smart ass reply. None came.
"The cases are obviously confidential, but perhaps you have thoughts on the opinions on the television reporting or the newspaper," I said, stressing the last word and arching my eyebrow at Edward.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, as I'm sure you've deduced, based on skill, this isn't a first time murderer. Perhaps checking outside Rochester might be helpful."
I nodded. "That obvious experience is what makes things difficult. We've found no clues. No DNA, no hairs, no tire tracks." I felt I was walking a fine line with disclosure, but I pressed on. "Based on those results alone, we couldn't even say whether or not the crime was committed by a human or an animal."
I carefully opened the file folder and slid out a close-up of the gashes across our most recent victim's back.
"Have either of you seen an injury like this?" I questioned, my eyes directed at Edward as I slid the photo across the table.
His expression was stoic, and his fists were clenched atop the table. Did I expect him to react? I wasn't sure. He had obvious forensic science experience, but graphic imagery often caused unconscious reactions from the body. Even veteran officers winced, arched their eyebrows, or averted their gaze at grizzly photos.
Edward studied the photo for only a moment. I waited for him to blink or for his breathing to increase, or his hands to shake as if he was nervous. He never did.
He passed the photo down to his father, but my eyes never left him. His gaze finally shifted, and he looked over the table at me. His body was rigid, and the shining obsidian gaze I had been expecting was replaced by a flat, lifeless shade of brown now, but the intensity or beauty of his countenance had not changed. He was still breathtakingly beautiful, and I fucking hated him for it. His eyes were black yesterday. I know they were, there was no question in my mind, and it wasn't an experience I'd soon forget. I'd learned to see the small details in people, and those eyes were unresponsive and blank.
Though I was momentarily confused by the color change of his eyes, I couldn't help but be overcome by his good looks. His skin was unnaturally pale, like my old dermatologist who I was sure had never seen the sun, but it suited him; it was sophisticated. Okay, maybe I just said that to feel better about my own pale skin. His cheekbones would feel positively exquisite under my fingertips, the bow of his lips was begging to be sucked and kissed, and the smooth column of his throat was begging to be nipped at and bitten. I felt my nipples harden in response to my thoughts and a growing moisture and a familiar ache between my legs. Terrified or not, my body could not help but react to him and I would have let him take me right here on this table with this odd family in the house.
Out of nowhere, Edward took a shuddering gasp and looked up at me again before swallowing compulsively and gritted his teeth tight. His hands fell into his lap and gripped the tops of his thighs. His eyes were focused and never left me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking about and what my body's lustful reaction to him was. I felt ungodly self-conscious and dirty. I squeezed my thighs tightly together and picked at my fingernails, peeking up through my lashes at Edward. He looked equally as pissed as he did in the café the day before.
If I hadn't known better I would have thought the poor kid was having a stroke or a seizure.
"Edward, do you need to be excused?" the doctor asked, making to stand, his eyes full of the utmost concern.
His head snapped in his father's direction, anger clearly clawing to get through the mask of calm he was trying like hell to portray.
"I'm fine," he hissed through gritted teeth, dropping his gaze once again.
I quickly looked over at Newton to appraise his reaction to the scene and was furious to see him with his phone out, texting someone with a shit-eating grin on his face.
The doctor coughed, gaining my attention once again as he turned the photo to get a better look. "Well, it's obviously from a poly-dactyl creature. Something with at least four digits or claws. That rules some in or out."
I nodded. We weren't looking for a fucking rabid three-toed sloth, I knew that much. I was frustrated that the doctor didn't say any more, but just studied the image.
"Did they all have the same injuries?"
I was shocked to hear his voice break the silence, and my eyes slowly shifted to meet him. The tone of his voice sounded like he was making conversation about the latest episode of CSI instead of a real murder investigation.
"Y-yes. Most were approximately the same depth and length. Some have five claw marks though. All five marks don't always show, depending on where the injury was."
"There's no way a normal human made those," Doctor Cullen offered, looking at Edward and shaking his head before sliding the photo back across the table.
I knew that, and it was damn frustrating because my intuition still flickered around this kid across from me. Something wasn't right with him. Maybe I needed to separate my feelings of suspicion and my gut instinct that the kid was weird. Maybe my instinct was just broken, or I was fucking crazy. It was some Freddy Kruger-like shit from a bad horror movie.
Silence resurfaced, and I bit at my lip debating telling them both that the throats were ripped out of most of our victims, but I refrained. That would be crossing a line.
I'd come here for nothing. I had nothing. I don't know what I'd hoped for, but I thought he'd have an outburst or panic or freak the fuck out and yell at me for accusing him or some shit, but he didn't. He was composed and helpful, even in his distance and weirdness. Weirdos weren't necessarily criminals, I knew that. I'd trusted my gut, and I failed.
"Thanks for looking." I sighed. "If you think of anything that might be helpful, please call us."
I dug into the badge holder around my neck and retrieved a business card, sliding it across the table to the doctor. "Thanks for your time."
Dr. Cullen folded his hands. "I'm sorry we couldn't help more."
I rose, prompting Edward and the doctor to stand as well. Mike tucked his phone back into his pocket and stumbled to his feet.
Without giving it much thought, I walked around the table, passing Edward in the process. He inhaled sharply again and gripped the back of the chair. I was mortified at the thought that he could smell my arousal. Furthermore, was he turned on or repulsed?
Repulsed, obviously.
The doc escorted us to the door. I casually looked over my shoulder to keep track of Edward, but he was gone. Again, I hadn't heard his movements. He must have slipped up the back stairs.
We said our goodbye and walked back to the car. I was more frustrated than before, and much of my frustration was focused inward.
I'd totally embarrassed myself today, as a cop and a woman. Was I losing my touch? Should I continue to trust my instincts? Was I positively paranoid?
"I'll give you this, Swan," Mike said as we buckled our seatbelts and he started the car. "The Cullens are a bunch of weird-asses, especially that kid."
My eyes widened. "You think so?" I asked, surprised and relieved.
"Mm-hmm. I think he wants to get in your pants."
I blushed. Mike was always blunt; he said what was on his mind, and he evidently didn't think the Cullens were suspicious.
"Sorry, Swanny, I think it's back to the drawing board."
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Author's Note: epic thanks to mycrookedsmile and Scorp112 from Project Team Beta for their hard work!
Thanks for all the reads and reviews. I really appreciate your feedback and comments. Please click that review button, that's the only 'payment' a fic author gets! 3
Next up we'll hear from Edward! He'll pop in every few chapters and tell us what he thinks of things. ;-)