That night, outside near a river, forests and rocky mountains in the backdrop, in my dream I saw Bree Tanner standing in silence some thirty yards away from me and staring at me with deep, sad dark eyes, dressed in a pair of washed out blue jeans and in a baseball jacket. What struck me the most, I remember, was her loneliness, the oddity of her being the only living thing there apart from plants and me; there were no animals, no insects, nothing. The world she inhabited seemed so empty, so desperately lonely. I tried to go to her, but I couldn't move; and she did not move, either. Just stared at me. Then the scene changed and I woke up into a strange sort of consciousness as I dreamt of a pile of bodies of brown-haired and brown-eyed girls mixing with bloodied masses of dead fish. It wasn't jerking upright as they do in movies; it was a slow, agonizing struggle with my eyelids to lift and for my hands or legs to move, because I knew I'm asleep – but my whole body was paralysed and it felt like I will never regain the control of my limbs again.
"Shh," I heard Edward's voice. "Don't be afraid. You are in hospital and you are taken care of. You will live. You will be alright."
I stirred, still fighting with my eyelids, which elicited another gentle: "Shhh." I felt an icy hand brush away the sweat-drenched hair from my forehead and then squeeze my palm. "It was just a dream. A bad dream, nothing more. You'll be alright. Sleep. Just sleep."
Then I fell into darkness again, as if falling down the rabbit hole into a twisted world of horrors, where rabbits line their lairs with human bodies, bodies of young girls, all piled up on top of one another.

At times, when I was capable of thinking even if I could not lift my eyelids, I thought of Edward. The things Angela thinks, which somehow I couldn't reconcile with the boy, however strange, scary and violent, whose hand I felt holding mine and whose voice kept whispering to me that I'll pull through. And I thought of the dreams, where Bree was ever-recurring, ever the same, sadness and loneliness that turned into horror that tied my hands and legs, glued my lids together, choked me with my powerlessness to escape it. And then once there came sudden calm, the sensation of somebody other than Edward touching me for the hand was warm and I forced my eyes to open for a second – and I glimpsed a stranger beside Edward, a towering, beautiful man with melancholy eyes who gave me a soothing smile and took my palm; afterwards, I felt a little stronger, a little better, the burning pain in the left part of my body gone, swallowed by sleep that was no longer fitful and exhausting, but which cradled me and swayed me gently like a leaf on a serene water. It was odd then, but I felt no fear in those seconds I saw them there – and when the stranger touched me, it filled me with peace at last.
For a moment, just for a split second, I thought the beautiful stranger was an angel that came to carry me away, into the light.

xxx

This way it went on and on, nightmares giving way to floating on peaceful water, until I gradually grew strong enough to wake up fully and keep my eyes open, but as I did, a flash of sharp light blinded me and regaining my sight, I saw an elderly nurse smacking a young man's head with folded newspaper left and right with a verve: "Out! Out with you, she's just a child and she's just had her surgery, have you got no shame? Security! Security, get him out!"
The thing that blinded me was apparently the flash of a camera; the young man was unceremoniously dragged away by a burly security guard whilst the nurse argued with him and slammed the door in his face.
Machines and monitors beeped and blinked around me; I had prongs in my nose and tubes and needles everywhere. Was this the ICU?
"Oh, awake, honey?" she gave me a wide, motherly smile. "You gave us quite a fright!"
"What happened?" I murmured. My throat was parched and ached. I felt lightheaded and weak.
"You suffered internal bleeding and had to have a surgery. You had a seizure during it, but thanks to God we've brought you back. We shouldn't have let you go home on Monday at all!" she shook her head, her hands on her hips. Then her face softened and she smiled again. "Now dear, how do you feel?"
"Thirsty."
"Of course you are, honey – let me help you." She came to me and handed me a plastic cup of water.
"What was that guy doing there?" I asked as I drank up.
"Oh, somebody tipped off the press," she frowned like a Devil, "It's a mayhem here now! You know, they're making it into a big cautionary tale about cyber bullying and all. Been quite tough to keep all those vultures out of here! I really wonder who told them it was you who stood up for that poor dear."
"How is she? Ginny?" I asked, battling with the fog in my brain and the weight of my eyelids. "If you can tell me?"
She saddened and then forced herself to smile. "Don't you worry about that now, honey, rest, focus on yourself, okay?"
That alarmed me. I grasped her hand. "What's wrong? Was she hurt?"
"Sweetie, shhh, calm down-"
"Was she hurt?"
She gave me a careworn look. "Sweetheart... I'm afraid she's gone."
I sprang up to sit, but the tubes held me in place and she pushed me back down. "Gone – how?"
"Oh, there, there, honey, be a good girl, lie still, or you'll get injured." She sighed and patted my hair. "She didn't know that video got deleted, honey, I think – it must have been the last drop. She hanged herself, dearie."
I flitted over the room with my eyes, not seeing much; numbly I noted her name tag. Nurse Sheonagh MacFayden. And I felt nothing. I just thought of Ginny, of Julia jumping out of the window at school and her broken body way down below on the ground. It was very easy for her bones to shatter into pieces, too, like Ginny's – and she was this broken, like a beautiful china vase that after falling from up high turns into shards, destroyed beyond recognition. Slipped through my fingers. I didn't catch her.
I didn't catch her.
I shut my eyelids tight.
"Is dad here?" I asked eventually, gazing up at the nurse.
She gave me an odd glance. She looked uncomfortable. "No, honey," she murmured.
"Could you wake me up when he comes?"
"Sure, honey," she promised and averted her eyes. "Just, don't worry about anything, okay? You're gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be alright. Now, I've got something for you that might cheer you up," she gave me a conspiratorial smile, winked at me and brought me a small packet, on the top of which there was inserted a posy of lilies of the valley, tied on a small envelope with a thin bast twine. "Can you guess who just left this for you?"
I reached for it slowly and she smiled again, this time with contentment. I pulled out the envelope with hesitation and flew over the lines inside with my eyes.

Not sure if anybody will bring you notes, so I made you a copy of mine. Yesterday there was a History quiz, but don't worry about it, Mr. Kane said you can write it when you go back to school.
I hope you didn't mind me being there. Just figured somebody should. Good luck getting better.

E.

There was a stack of photocopied notes from a week and a half's worth of lessons, all neatly organized and easy to use, with underlined passages in the notes from History. And at the bottom I found another thing. A book. Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. A small smile flitted over my mouth, though my feelings were mixed as I took it out and read the cover. On the first blank page at the top right, there were Edward's initials and a date and place of buying, 22/7/2005, Venice. I slid over them with my fingers. As I was reading, somewhere from the middle there fell out a leaflet of pressed out fern. I lifted it and studied it, slowly turning it around in my fingers before my eyes; it was very fragile and probably very old – it was so dry it was starting to lose its colour and with careless handling would turn into dust. I put it back in.
"He keeps coming here," she told me in a half-voice, still smiling, and fluffing up my pillow. "Keeps asking me how you are doing. He even brings over a healer – I never believed in that stuff, but I guess I should think about it again. You really got better after a couple of his visits. We nearly lost you, dearie – but now I think you got a fighting chance. You speak and you move – it's a little miracle. We didn't think you'll be able to."
"A healer?"
"Yeah. Some Garrett. Nice chap, smiles all the time, though he looks like a vagabond. So tall he could rob people in airplanes," she chuckled. "He had to go away for a week or two, but Edward said he'll bring him back if you need."
Garrett. The one I thought to be Azrael. Perhaps he was an angel, but of a different kind. That kind that heals. And Edward brought him? Why? Why the flowers? Why the notes? Why all this attention?
"Oh, by the way. Angela was here too a few times – she'll be really glad to know you're conscious at last."
"Angela?"
"Yes. You don't remember? Scared her proper, you did, when you collapsed. If she wasn't there, I don't think you'd have made it."
I recalled then, vaguely, watching the Poirot movies with her, because she insisted she'll stay with me till dad comes home – when it got to some minutes after eleven, she called her mom and asked her to let her sleep over at our place. Sweet Angela.
"How is she?"
"Oh, as I say, she'll be alright as soon as she hears you are," Nurse MacFayden smiled. "I could text her for you if you want?"
I nodded, feeling sleep come back. But knowing now the man called Garrett was the one who stopped my nightmares and was away for some time, I dreaded it.
And I was right. Bree was there, at the same place, and so were the bodies of girls and so were the eyes of dead fish. But something changed about these dreams, because there were also happy moments – and also moments of even greater horror. I saw Bree humming with a smile as she tried on a sparkling, indigo tulle evening dress; I saw her twirl around in it and hold it up on a hanger before herself once again after she took it off and just before she headed to the cash desk to pay. I saw her head out and smile at somebody in surprise – and then the terror returned, and the paralysis, the complete powerlessness.

I don't know exactly how many days I spent in the ICU. It felt like ages. I kept waiting for dad to appear, but he must have come when I was asleep; I didn't want to think about the other possibility. It was too painful. When I heard Nurse MacFayden talking about it with another one, I tried to stop my ears with my pillow. Still I understood what they said, every word.
"Say what you will, Peggy, to drag that poor girl home from hospital and then leave her there alone till midnight like that is pretty darn irresponsible," I caught Nurse MacFayden's indomitable voice. "She was this close to dying of that bleeding! And don't tell me it's right he leaves her here all alone, too! Police Chief or not, he's not that busy, not even with all this media circus. Guilty conscience, that's what it is, I tell you! Were it not for Dr. Cullen's boy bringing her flowers and school stuff and that Angela girl coming here every once in a while, she'd be put away here forgotten like a broken toy in the attic. Would you not give two hoots about your own kids like that?"
"Not me, you can bet." This voice I couldn't quite place with surety, but it sounded somewhat familiar – I looked through the glass in the door and saw a young nurse who tended to me in the ER lean against it with her shoulder, holding a steaming cup. Nurse MacFayden mirrored her pose. "It's kinda weird. I'd have thought with how he rushed to get to her that Monday he'd be here all the time."
"He was here once since she came here, Peggy," Nurse MacFayden grumbled. "Let me tell you, rotten luck that her momma died on her like that! She'd need one more than ever now."
"She's got Edward at least," Nurse Peggy drank up and then leant forward to Nurse MacFayden with eagerness. "I wonder where did the two meet and how long do they know each other? C'mon, I never saw Dr. Cullen's boy dating anyone."
"Waited for the right one I guess. Pity she's not gonna be here long. Like the boy's cursed, or something."
"Or the whole family, if you think about it," Peggy added. "Sure they're rich, but I wouldn't swap places with them for anything."
"Me neither."
"Maybe that's why he went after an ill girl?" Peggy suggested, stirring the liquid in her cup and drinking up again. "Did you know?" she asked dreamily after a while, leaning her head against the glass. "That he carried her to the infirmary in his arms? The whole way across the campus?"
"Did he?" There was rapture in Nurse MacFayden's voice.
"Yeah," Peggy's voice quivered a little with emotion, equally rapturous, as she smiled and shook her head a little: "If you saw them together on Monday, how he was holding her hand when he brought her here... gosh it was so sweet I thought I'd cry."
Nurse MacFayden sighed. "I know. It was the same here when she was unconscious. Day after day. Night after night, but don't tell on me I let him in."
Peggy shook her head quickly, as if that was a matter of course.
Nurse MacFayden sighed again. "Pity. Such a lovely girl. They make such a beautiful couple."
"And is it sure, that...?"
"Couple of months, maybe a year. That Mayor's girl mauled her over proper and sped it up. She needs a new heart, but she's had two already. Dr. Cullen thinks there's not much chance a third transplantation would be a success."
Peggy grimaced. "That's horrible, Sheonagh."
"Whatever they say, Edward's a nice boy," Nurse MacFayden mused decisively, stirring her cup. "Show me another boy his age these days that would take care about his ill girlfriend as he does."
"True enough. But Chief Swan didn't look too happy to see him with her," Peggy noted and Nurse MacFayden snorted.
"He should be glad somebody gives a damn about her when he doesn't!"
I wished I could curl up into a tight ball, but the tubes still sticking out of me like I was a pincushion wouldn't let me.
When Bree came to me again, I was almost glad to see her. Glad to not to be awake. But in those moments I was, I kept searching for her. Angela came almost every day once I was fit enough for longer visits and brought me my things, my Smartphone with them. Thanks to that I discovered there was a detail she has not told me. That Bree was raped before she was killed.
I was chilled to the bone, recalling her sad eyes in my dreams, her aura of being utterly lost and alone. And so I searched. Was it to give those haunted eyes some peace? Was it to give Angela closure? Or because I had to be sure of the truth myself?
Meanwhile, Nurse MacFayden supplied me with news about Ginny's funeral, the inquest, the seat that was shaking not only under Lauren's father the Mayor, not only under the school Principal, but also under my dad. And she supplied me with flowers and notes from lessons that kept coming in, even if I never saw Edward now, neither during the day nor during the night.

Sometimes, unwelcome, came the thought why my dad would not open a case of assault against Lauren, but felt no fear accusing a millionaire doctor's son. One drunkard's testimony was a pretty weak proof to fry such a fish on. It made no sense. Did he have any evidence Angela didn't know about, or didn't tell me? Was Edward really, demonstrably guilty, but some greasing of someone's palm got the soldier in the noose instead? Were Edward's shenanigans the reason why dad was so sceptical about getting anybody with power and money punished?
I found Bree's Facebook account. I read through the posts, all open to public, trying to piece together a feeling of what she was like. She was great at Scrabble and used to win spelling competitions; she liked to collect everything with the motive of dragonflies; she loved to write and dreamed to make it big one day, dreamed that the first e-book she was putting together would open the doors of the world to her, so that she would get out, anywhere was good, so long it wasn't here.
If she was having a lunch at the diner in Forks, she posted a selfie there; if she went grocery shopping, argued with her dad, walked her dog, it was there like an hourly diary, left for the whole world to see, for anybody who wished to harm her to track her down. Was it like screaming to the world: "I matter"?
The last post was from the diner on the day she died, where she talked about going to Port Angeles again, because on her last trip with Angela the boutique with her dream dress in the shop window closed just minutes before she got to it. She wrote there she's not sure why she wants to buy it or why she even goes there when her date turned her down – Angela consoled her in the comments.
Just forget about that weirdo, honey, she wrote. He's just a stuck up bastard. Get the dress, we need no guy to have a blast.
To that she didn't reply, at least not in the comments.
What struck me as strange though was just how much she shared about herself on those pages, down to the size of her bra. That sent a shiver down my spine. Any creep pretending to be a girl... giving her a bit of attention... Jesus Christ! It would have been so easy to lure her somewhere on the pretext of meeting up for shopping. Any of those commenters on her profile could have been Edward, or that soldier, or anyone else in real life, any of those could have been the one who raped and murdered her. It was probably a vain work, but I started noting the most frequent ones, the ones that seemed weirdest. But it took a long time, because even though Angela told me she was lonely, and I could see it in her posts, she had over a thousand Facebook friends.
And something just kept bugging me. The fact that she went shopping for the dress, for a very specific dress, but it wasn't found on her, though all her other things laid near her body, and the fact that there was no mention whatsoever in the press about the shop or any of the shop assistants being questioned. Did Bree never make it there? Their testimony wasn't interesting for the newspapers? Where was the dress?
Because I was sure deep down she had bought it. Because I had known nothing about any dress when I saw it in my dreams.

One early afternoon, it was either Saturday or Sunday, I forgot, Nurse MacFayden brought in lilacs, purple and white, their sweet scent heady and overpowering; coming in, she smiled from ear to ear, eyes glowing with mischief.
When I took them from her, I tensed up and my guts twisted in me, as if somebody poured icy water over me.
"What's wrong?" the nurse frowned in concern. "You look so pale, dearie, as if you saw a ghost. Are you sick?"
I shook my head.
"Have you two argued that he doesn't come in?" Nurse MacFayden asked as she was putting the lilacs in the vase. She flashed me a smile. "Whatever it was about, I'm sure he's sorry, honey. He's waiting outside – would you like to see him?"
Technically speaking, I saw him. I had a very good view of him, as he stood near the wall in front of my room, waiting. He looked collected as ever, but for once, there was a careful tinge of tenderness to his eyes and mouth, bereft of tension, mixed with a heavy dose of melancholy. He gave me a slow, small, cautious smile.
Angela coming in saved me from having to reply. And she looked as pale as a ghost herself and paled even more when she saw the lilacs.
"Hello Nurse, hi Bella," she attempted a smile and Nurse MacFayden reined in disappointment.
"Hi, Angela – alright, I'll leave you two girls alone, have a nice chat!"
As soon as she was away, Angela quickly sat down beside me. "He's coming here to see you?"
I didn't feel ready to talk about that, because I didn't know myself how I felt about it all. I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he kept his distance – on the other, if ever there was a quiz or test, if ever there was an essay or other kind of homework, he would let me know, highlighting in his notes the important passages, sometimes marking those which appeared in the test questions. When I returned the Pilgrim through Nurse MacFayden with thanks, he sent back Rilke. Most of all his care made me sad.
Before I mustered any kind of reply, she urged me: "Bella, stay away from him. Look at Bree, long dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, pale – can't you see you two are of a type?"
Yes, I could see. It was one of the things that kept nagging at my brain, one of the things that haunted me in my dreams – and strangely, it was also one of the things that kept telling me something is off, only I couldn't think up what.
"He doesn't come in." Not anymore at least. And not yet. "He just brings me flowers."
"Jesus, if I were your dad, I'd file a restraining order! Bella please, just tell the nurses to not to let him near you, please! Do you want to end up like Bree?"
At that I heard an uncomfortable and familiar clearing of a throat. Dad was standing in the doorframe and casting a glare behind his back, where I could make out Edward's cool face, lip curled up in a crooked smirk, arms crossed on his chest. He looked like his icy self again.
"As for that restraining order, I'm tempted to consider it," dad grunted and came in, closing the door behind him. "Hello, Angela."
"Hello, Chief Swan." Angela blushed in unease.
"It's great you came to see my girl. Just I'd be obliged to you if you stuck to something lighter, I dunno, like clothes or celebs or whatever you girls are interested in. I don't want her to get upset again, okay?"
Angela quickly nodded, springing up to her feet. "I'll see you later, Bella, okay?"
I nodded and smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, thanks for coming."
And through that glass in the door, I could see Edward was watching us with a fixed stare, leant against the wall and motionless like a statue, the smirk full of mockery still on his lips.

Dad didn't stay long – hospitals have always been making him uncomfortable. Or was it Edward's unblinking eyes? Or me?
But he grabbed the bouquet of lilacs and threw it into a waste bin right before Edward's eyes, staring him down. Edward straightened up and held his glare, his eyes freezing and inscrutable. It was dad who broke the contact first. Then Edward nodded to me, his face softening for a millisecond, and went away.
"You know, dearie, your dad has forbidden that we'd let Edward see you," Nurse MacFayden told me the following day and then winked at me, pulling a small posy of white violets from behind her back. "But this does not strictly count as him seeing you, does it?"
Somehow picturing Edward pick those violets and wind around them the leaves and the grass struck me as immensely odd. It was old-fashioned. It was nostalgic. It was... personal. I took them from her and twirled them slowly in my fingers. When I smelled them, the scent of grass was so fresh it still drowned out the perfume of the flowers.
"Can you put them into water, please?"
"Of course, dearie – and in case your father comes in, just hide it in the nightstand," she winked again.
"Nurse?"
"Yes, honey?" she smiled at me, arranging the bouquet in the vase.
"Could you bring Edward to me, if he's still here?"
Her face melted in an enormous smile. "Of course, honey – right away!"
"Wait –" I stopped her when she was at the door and she half-turned back, "could you please keep this secret from dad?"
She winked and grinned. "Don't you worry, honey!"
He came in, shoulders quite rigid, jacket folded over his arm. We stared at each other for a while. His eyes were cold as usually.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi."
Silence hung then in the air, thick and oppressive. He stood very still as was his wont; no fidgeting. No gratuitous movement. His eyes born deep in mine, unflinching, studying me. As if he was always on his guard, always observing, always thinking.
"Thanks. For the notes and the flowers. And for Garrett."
He smiled a little. It didn't make his eyes any warmer. "I just want you to get better. No need to thank me."
I didn't know what to say to that at first. I blinked and looked away, unable to bear his stare.
"Are you?" he asked in a softened voice. I glanced at him and saw his face had softened, too. "Better?"
I made myself smile. "Yeah. Much better, thanks."
"You've got nightmares," he noted. "What about? The attack?"
I took a deep breath and crossed looks with him. "Bree Tanner."
He stiffened and the hint of emotion in his face was gone. He straightened up, watching me coldly. "I see."
I waited for him to say more, anything, but he kept silent.
"What did Bree blackmail you with?"
He pressed his lips together and clenched his jaws, evaluating me. "Why?" he asked eventually and crossed his arms on his chest. "It doesn't matter now. She is dead anyway."
"Yes, she's dead. And that's exactly why it matters," I countered, jerking up. At once he was by my side and pushed me down, frowning like a Devil.
"Lie down."
"No!" I pushed him away and tried to rise again, but he gripped my wrists hard sitting down by my side and frowning even harder, while I pushed against him. His grip only grew firmer.
"Lie down, you'll rip the IV drip out!"
I stopped to struggle with him and we both breathed hard for a moment, glaring at each other. He let go and straightened up, cold and unreadable again.
"You want to know if I killed Bree."
I gave him a firm stare. "Yes."
"Foolish," he snarled, knitting his brows. "If you think I did it it's pretty suicidal to ask me."
"I haven't got that much to lose, have I?" I murmured and his anger slowly abated at that. He looked at me thoughtfully.
"So that's your angle?" he mused, tilting his head to the side. "That you can ask, unlike Angela, because you stand with one foot in the grave anyway?"
I laid down, closing my eyes momentarily, looked at him and nodded. He thought it over.
"And if I told you I didn't do it, would you believe me?"
I stared at him without flinching. "Yes."
He narrowed his eyes and inclined his head back, studying me. "Why?"
"I don't know," I admitted, but briefly, the cool tenderness with which he treated me when I was battered, alone and helpless at school came to my mind. "I can picture you killing somebody. You wouldn't give it a second thought if there was some kind of danger. But, something in my guts just can't see you raping anyone."
He slowly nodded. Then he sighed and took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, looking at them. "And you know that because I could have very easily raped you on Monday if I wanted – and likely would have gotten away with it, right?" he asked silently and shot a glance in my eyes. "It's not like your dad would have pressed charges, would he? Not like you have anybody to protect you, just like Bree?"
I gave a nod, shuddering.
He looked down on our joint hands again, seeming to think with an expression that was difficult to read. As if he was torn. What was it in his face? Sadness? Reluctance? Regret, like the asphodel had hinted?
"Fine," he gazed at me, calm and cold again. He extricated his fingers, gave my hand a gentle squeeze and stood up. "Get well. When you do, I'll show you what Bree has seen."
"Edward?" I asked him as he was about to go out. He turned around, raising his eyebrow in question. "Say it."
"I didn't kill Bree, Bella," he said, looking into my eyes, very serious. "Nor did I rape her."
Then he wavered a moment and eventually quickly came over to me and drew the knuckles of my fingers to his lips. Their skin was cool, but in the gesture was reluctant warmth. He sat down beside me, wrapping his fingers around my palm and looking me in the eyes. "We didn't start off well, Bella. I have a lot of demons that haunt me and I am difficult to like or be with. But I think, you and I, we could get each other." He stroked my palm with his thumb and looked down. "I don't know why, but you and that girl with crutches, you made me think what I have become." He started drawing circles on my skin, very gently, while he looked up and off to the side as if his mind was miles away. "She could have lived," he added pensively. "I could have stopped it, it would have been nothing. I just never noticed her enough to care. Or anybody else, for that matter. Strange, but it's the first time in a long time that I feel guilty." Then he looked at me with a small smile, squeezing my hand lightly. There was a touch of humour in his eyes. "So you can take this as my atonement for nearly a lifetime of not caring."
I smiled back uncertainly and he, as if encouraged by that, leant in, his smile growing and brightening up his face and eyes, and cradled my cheek in his hand. I jerked away and the shine vanished, he withdrew his hand, balling it, and hung his head, clenching his jaw and swallowing. "Sorry," he murmured. "Been a long time since I last felt interested in anybody. I forgot you are still scared of me. Not that I can't see why," he raked his fingers through his hair.
"Sorry," I muttered, uneasy. Part of me wanted him to kiss me, as he was probably about to. What did I have to lose, really? In his own cold way, he seemed considerate. He had issues, bad issues – he was strange, damaged, had some serious baggage probably. He was aggressive. But in this brief moment, I glimpsed he could be warm also. According to that nurses' chat I had months, perhaps a year. Not more, most likely. And he knew. And still he had leant in to kiss me. Still he came to the hospital with flowers. And when he kissed my fingers and when he smiled at me and meant it, my heart went galloping. Damaged. Difficult. Haunted by demons. Cold on the surface. But loving, deep down. "What was it that Bree has seen? Can't you show me now?"
He considered it. Then he looked at me. "Are you sure you want to know?"
I nodded.
He deliberated about it for a while further, straightening up and studying me, leant on one hand. "She had a proof that my mother is insane," he said reluctantly and bent forward, hanging his head and bracing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands and rubbing them slowly against one another. His shoulders hunched and he looked tired. "One day, she came to our house on her bike and saw my mother leaping at a rabbit and trying to suck its blood. Mother gnawed on it and then suddenly smashed a window with it, laughing as she does when she's not herself, it's something between a laugh and a wail. Then she would pound the glass, over and over, until the shards cut her hard and made her bleed and my brother Emmett came out to restrain her and lead her home." He glanced at me. "Bree caught this on her phone and told me she'll delete it if I go with her to the dance. If I don't, she'd put it on her Facebook." He straightened up again, taking a deep breath, and raked both his hands through his hair. Then he crossed his arms on his chest and stared off into the wall, eyebrows slightly knit. "I told her where she can stuff it, but she insisted she'll do it if I don't go with her. So the logic of your father and at least half of the town went I killed her in a fit of temper when she refused to delete it when I told her I won't go with her. But that theory has got one dent in it. And that dent is she didn't refuse to do that," he gazed at me. "And that I didn't tell her I won't."
I took a deep breath and massaged my temples. The dress. The dress. Her humming, her smiling. She was happy. She was happy.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I took a deep breath and looked at him. "Sure. Go on."
"I did pick her up at the diner and she did come with me to my car, Old Hopkins was right. I had cooled down, I wanted to talk it through with her. But she just apologised first thing as she sat down, broke down into crying and said she's sorry, that she doesn't know what's got into her that she blackmailed me. She said she won't tell anybody and that she's sorry that my mother's ill like that. I told her then I'd go to the dance with her."
He paused for a moment, studying me, whilst I gave him an intent stare, tense and impatient for the denouement.
He shrugged. "I dropped her in front of the mall and told her to have fun shopping for the dress. I asked if she wants me to give her a lift home but she said she'll take the bus, that she doesn't want anybody to see us on friendly terms, so it would be a surprise and she'd see Lauren's and Jessica's jaws hit the floor. She gave me a hug and went away, turning around once, waving and beaming at me a smile. And that's the last I saw of her."
I processed it for a long time. His face was stone-like, matter-of-factual.
"She deleted the video?"
He nodded, shrugging. "But she sent it to me first and I kept it. I had my reasons and sorry, I don't want to talk about them now. Maybe I'll explain it to you one day, but not now. Do you feel like seeing it?"
I thought about it and shook my head. "Just show me the file, but don't play it. I'll believe you."
He took his Smartphone out of his jeans, searched a couple of seconds and showed it to me.
"Can you show me the properties?"
He did.
The video was taken on 1st April 2007. Four days before she was murdered. And sent and received on 5th, the day of her death.
The author was Bree.
"Okay," I whispered. "I trust you. I trust you. And Nurse MacFayden?"
He put the phone back into his pocket. "I did give her a ride to Seattle. Only it was some fifteen or twenty minutes later than she claimed. But given the approximate hour of Bree's death it didn't really matter, so she lied for me, just to get your dad off my back quickly."
I frowned, but accepted it. "Why did you go to Seattle that day?"
"The same reason why I went there that day you and I met. For transfusion."
"Transfusion?"
"I've got porphyria, Bella. Just like my parents and siblings."
Porphyria. The anaemic pallor. His mother's insanity. His reclusiveness. It started to make sense. "Jesus Christ."
"We don't like to talk about it, though a lot of people here know I suspect. So we get it in Seattle unless we need it really quickly."
"Then you had the medical staff who could testify that at the time of her murder-"
He slightly nodded and shrugged. "And they would if it was necessary, as would the CCTV on the ferry. But your dad really had nothing. He just hoped the spoilt rich boy will crumble under a bit of pressure and false threats. I have to say your dad's not a very good cop, for a Police Chief."
I thought about it all for a long while, not paying attention to the jibe about my dad. "I'm sorry about your mum, Edward," I started carefully.
He hung his head and rubbed his face with his hand.
I wavered for a moment and then I said: "My mum had the bipolar disorder." He slowly looked at me, whilst I bit my lip, battling the urge to touch him and comfort him. "And my best friend had schizophrenia. It wasn't anything as extreme as your mother, but..." I reached for his hand and clasped it, "I think I know a thing or two about what it's like to see the one you love suffer. And not to be able to do anything much about it."
He looked at our linked hands and gently kissed me on the knuckles. "Yeah," he murmured, weaving his fingers through mine. "I'd bet you do." He wavered a moment, tracing the line of my thumb with his index finger. "Did you ever wish to have something you knew you'll never have, Bella?" he raised his head again and looked at me.
"Yep. Why?"
"What was it?"
I shrugged. "Normal life, I guess. Mum and dad who live together and love each other. Best friend that doesn't die in her teens. Heart that I won't pay a second thought to until I'm fifty or sixty and hypochondriac," I flashed a smile at him and he chuckled a bit, showing a row of strong, white teeth with slightly prominent canines, and that shine returned, his eyes even sparkled. I felt myself smiling unwittingly in response. When he was chuckling like that, he seemed so much more human and approachable.
"What do you want that you'll never have?" I asked him with a grin and he smiled again, his eyes still twinkling.
"Same as you I guess," he said after a moment of watching me. But his gaze was different from the one with which he usually scrutinised me. I didn't feel like it was trying to penetrate my mind. It was warm and even a little teasing. "Just a bit of a normal life."
I stopped to smile then. I swallowed. I brought my fingers, shaking a bit, to his temple. I lost resolve there for a moment and stopped – but then I slipped them into his hair. He closed his eyes and raised his head, swallowing. With my heart in my throat, I slid down to his cheek and swept my thumb over it. That shaking didn't go away though. He pressed my palm to his face and then swiftly leant in and kissed me. He caressed the outline of my face with his fingertips while my head spun from the intensity, from the touch of his lips, unexpectedly warm now. I don't know why, but I started to cry and he kissed those tears away, returning to my mouth and pulling me close in a frenzy, until I gasped in pain and he abruptly stopped, drew me away and checked the tubes – one came nearly undone from the pressure and he gently laid his palm under it, resting his forehead against mine and closing his eyes, struggling with his breathing just like me.
More tears spilled out and he brushed them away ever-so-softly.
"Sorry," I whispered. "I dunno why I'm bawling-"
"Shh," he put his finger on my mouth, still battling with his breathing. "I get it. It's been too much, right? Too much to deal with. Just cry it out. All day if you want. I'm here."
But instead I just kissed him with all the pain that was in me, like what was building up in me since I've lost Julia and mum had spiralled out of control and finally found a vent, and he responded as intensely, but this time with much greater care not to cause any damage, running his fingers through my hair. His smelled of sandal wood and spices. And it was thick, a little coarse, unyielding.
"Normal life. Maybe we're each other's chance at that, Bella," he murmured near my lips as we calmed down, taking my cheeks in his hands, and kissed me again, in a way that was sweet and tender.
Then we heard some people coming in and some man cleared his throat. Edward sharply looked back, straightening up and his shoulders growing rigid. In the split second I could see his face before he turned it, I saw his eyes flared up in defiance and fury – and could it have been outright hatred?
"I apologise for the intrusion," Dr. Cullen said in his posh, cultured voice, giving us a charming smile whose joviality seemed a little forced, while two young medics craned their necks to look in over his shoulder and Nurse MacFayden following them gave us an apologetic shrug. "But I am afraid it is a time for a ward round."
"Hello, father," Edward said and gripped my hand in both his, putting it on his lap, intertwining his fingers with mine. In the glass I could see the reflection of the hard glare he directed up at the suave, handsome blonde doctor.
"I think it's time to let Miss Swan rest a little, son," Dr. Cullen said still with that charming smile on his pallid face. There was a very slight tension to his lower jaw and a hint of concern in his eyes. But he quickly masked it with affable humour. "We might be transferring her to the ward today and I daresay for one day that's quite enough of excitement."
Edward brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, still staring into his father's eyes with that same defiance bordering on hatred. Then he turned around to me, took my cheek into his palm and whispered into my ear: "Take care. I'll be back. It will be alright. Call me if you need anything," he rummaged in his pocket, scribbled his number on a piece of paper and handed it to me.
I nodded a little and he kissed my temple, picked up his jacket that had fallen down on the ground previously and went away, brushed by Dr. Cullen with a cold, angry lopsided smirk; as he did, his father and him locked their eyes. In Edward's case it was like stabbing the older man with his glare. There was such fury in it, such passion it was nearly palpable. The two medics didn't seem to know where to look. Once he was behind Dr. Cullen, he gave a smile to Nurse MacFayden, shaking her hand, and she beamed at him, giving me a happy look when he was going away, her eyes moistening with emotion.
He stopped for a second and looked at me through the blinds-covered side window facing the corridor; but when his father gave him a pointed look, he clenched his jaw, set off and vanished.
"Now, Miss Swan, how do you feel?" Dr. Cullen came nearer and smiled at me. "Well enough to be transferred?"

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Author's note: As always, thanks a lot to everyone who has read, reviewed and subscribed to this fic:-) If you are interested, you can check my profile for updates on it. Have a great day!