As Edward vanished, I heard dad's car pull in and slid off the couch to go to say 'Hi' to him.
"Hi," he grunted and headed immediately for the fridge to take out a can of beer, then steered towards the couch in the den and switched on a game of baseball. At first I was not sure if I should make the attempt to talk or not. But then I decided to give it another go. Grabbing the tea and the sliced apples, I perched down beside him and started going through Trigonometry exercises.
Vague anger, bottled up frustration nagged at me to talk it out with him; but each time I looked at him and started opening my mouth to speak, seeing his eyes so fixed on the screen and his face so distant, I lost my courage and went on with the Math exercises.
"Bring me another beer, Bells," he said after an hour. "There should be still some left in the fridge."
I rose my eyes from the textbook to look at him, nodded and went to carry out the order, silently like a ghost. I resisted the urge to throw that can at his head. But for a moment I regretted having that safety check in my mind – mum would have thrown it, may all Hell break loose afterwards. Sometimes, at least, it was effective in getting dad to communicate.
"Dad... I need to talk with you about something."
He lowered his head a little and drank up a long, focused gulp, sombre, distant. "Go to sleep, Bella."
I took a deep breath. "Dad, it will take only a minute, please."
"It's late. Go. I won't repeat it."
I dug my nails in my hand and clenched my jaws. I turned around and walked away, but at the doorway I stopped and looked back at him. "It would be her birthday on Saturday."
He was silent.
"Could we go somewhere together? Play bowling or something?"
He drank up without looking back at me. "I'm going away, Bells. I've booked a fishing trip. With Leah and Sue."
I hung my head and went away.

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The other day, Thursday, after laying in bed till the afternoon in excruciating pain instead of going to school, I caved in and took the Tramal. Within some thirty, forty minutes, I was able to move again and think. Slowly, carefully, I packed my notes for the last two essays I needed to finish yet and sauntered off towards the Church for a moment, before heading to the Library.
I picked a desk at the back, where it seemed the quietest, and bargained with Heavens to please let the Tramal work its magic for as long as possible.
"Better sit down quickly," I heard behind me and turned around to face Edward, who smiled at me with merriment. "You don't look too stable on those two legs."
"I'm not," I admitted and he pulled the chair for me and I sat down.
"In pain?"
"Not anymore. I'm okay, thanks. Just a bit weak."
"What are you doing outside, anyway? Shouldn't you be rather in bed in this state?"
"I went to the Church. To pray for mum and... other people. And to light some candles. And I figured it might be nicer to study here than alone at home," I half-smiled, feeling a bit uncertain, and slid the bag off my shoulder, putting it down beside the desk. "And I thought I'd grab some books when I go back. You?"
He shrugged and gave me a wide smile, glancing at the books in his hands and lifting them a bit and then at me. "I came to donate some books and put them in their place. My penance for the brawl."
"Would you like some help?" I smiled at him and he shook his head, smiling back at me as he put the books on the shelves.
"Maybe after you're done with studying, if you feel well enough later?" he suggested and peered at the hefty volume in my hand. "What is it, anyway?"
I shrugged, sitting down, opening the book before me and propping my cheek up on my hand. "Just still catching up on some essays."
"I could help you, if you want?" he offered, looking a little uncertain. "When I'm done here?"
"Not gonna be anytime soon, young man," the middle-aged librarian pointed out to him, arching her eyebrow, and thrust another box full of books in his hands.
I stifled a chuckle and he grimaced at me conspiratorially, then broke out in a wide smile showing his strong white teeth. "Fine, then I'll help you as I work."
"Careful about him, girl," the librarian leant down to my ear on her way back to the storage room.
"I will be," I promised and grinned at him.
Mad, bad and dangerous to know. Yeah. I got the picture.
Then I laughed and shook my head, lowering it to hide the chuckles.
"Yeah?"
"Nothing. Just... it's strange to see you in such a good mood."
"I was hoping to spend the afternoon with you, the moment my penance's over," he shrugged, stuffing another book in its place. "The police Chief is out of town today, so. I thought I might take you somewhere calm and nice. Maybe the yacht, if you want. We could sail towards the San Juan Island, maybe see some orcas and seals. No walking, nothing that would exhaust you. We could finish those essays there, just check the books you need out."
"Wait, wait, wait, a yacht? You serious?"
He nodded, puckering his brow in puzzlement. "Yeah. We could anchor somewhere nice, work and talk, watch the Milky Way if it's clear enough. I'd get you home before your dad's back, if that's your concern."
"You mean you'd steer it?"
"Yeah."
Laughing, I raked my both hands through my hair and shook my head. "Is that even legal, at seventeen?"
He gave me a cocky grin and flashed his eyebrow up and down. "Who cares?"
But with that, our conversation about that topic ended; out of the blue, he frowned and straightened up to ramrod stiffness, watching a tall, uncertain-looking man with dark hair, glasses and a broken nose fixed by bandages pass us by in a quick, nervous gait, slouching as if afraid, and join up a group of men sitting by the table next to the librarian at her desk. Edward sat down next to me, facing him, took a pen out of his pocket and began spinning it around his fingers, until that man peered at us and paled, hastily looking away. But he kept glancing at us, ever so often, as if compelled, as if he couldn't help it. That pen seemed to transfix him. At one point, Edward sunk his stare directly into that man's, slight, mean upcurve in the corner of his lips, and intensified the speed with which he spun the pen around. The man took a deep breath and focused on his friends. But he kept peeking back. At the pen, at Edward.
I watched it in unease, feeling like I was sitting on pins and needles and aching to stand up and run, sensing I was a witness to something ugly I didn't understand.
He started tapping at the table with the pen in a regular, monotonous rhythm. The man jerked, glared at him and then took some pill and washed it down with coffee, pointedly ignoring Edward. But something in his manner was very strange, in the way he was sweating, in the way his hands were shaking, as if he was on the verge of nervous breakdown, as if he wanted to wrench that pen out of Edward's hand and break it in half over his knee.
"You're terrorising him," I whispered with indignation, facing him.
"Very observant of you," Edward agreed, tapping on and watching that man's every move.
"Why?"
Edward sighed, stopped and looked at me. "You don't want to know."
I frowned. "I do."
He shook his head. "Trust me, you don't."
And he started spinning the pen around his fingers again, looking away.
It was very strange, but the Tadzio association I got when I first saw him returned. "Edward?" I asked carefully.
"Hmm?"
"Is that the Biology teacher? Mr. Banner?"
He pressed his lips together, knitting his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
I sat back, taking a deep breath. "You like books in general, don't you? Old books, too?"
He nodded, interest seeping into his eyes as he gazed at me.
"Have you ever read Death in Venice?"
The spinning pen came to an abrupt halt. He scanned my face and I could see he understands my meaning. He slowly nodded.
I took another deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. I guess that might explain the lab table and the broken window. Still I asked him about it.
He shrugged again. "Let's just say Mr. Banner leant a bit too close for comfort as he was checking on my progress with a lab sample and I snapped."
"Is that what it was about yesterday?" I asked quietly.
He glanced down, his nostrils flaring, and his jaw tightened. He looked at me. "He brushed against my hand as he was taking out a book next to the one I was taking out," he said. "I lost it."
"Do your parents know?"
He snorted and crossed his arms on his chest. "What's there to know? It's not like he's done anything yet that would give me a proof. Nor will he. He might be a disgusting pervert and a total nervous wreck but he isn't stupid. I have nothing."
I processed it for a while, fear and compassion battling in me once more – and against my better judgement, compassion won. "How long has this been going on?"
He shrugged. "Since we came here to Forks. Two years and some months."
Must have been maddening. Small, subtle gestures that sickened him, but which he couldn't really use as a piece of string to hang the one who tried to molest him with. Furtive leering glances. Brief, as if accidental touches that could mean nothing, but made one feel dirty and furious. I imagined if that was happening to me, day by day – and I immediately felt nauseated. It reminded me of how I was bullied. It was also like this. Subtle. Just small details that seemed innocuous enough, that could prove nothing, but that were slowly driving me insane.
"Maybe you should have told my dad," I said quietly and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"And he would have believed me. Yeah, right, Miss Swan."
He had a point there. "If you don't tell anyone, it will only get worse," I told him as quietly. "Why not tell your dad at least?"
The pen snapped in two halves. He took a deep breath and glanced at me. "Because he won't listen," he murmured and lit up a cigarette, taking few smokes before the infuriated librarian snatched it away from him.
"Where do you think you are, young man?" she snarled. "In a bar? Get out if you can't live without it, but don't you ever do this here again, got it?"
He gave her the most charming of smiles. "Of course, do forgive me, please," he said, his voice and eyes all contrition. "It won't happen again."
She blinked. "Oh – sure. It's alright. Just – mind it doesn't, okay?"
She then left in utter confusion, whilst he tried to bite down a grin as he gave me a nonchalant shrug and went to throw the cigarette away. I gave an incredulous chuckle under my breath and hung my head low to the textbook, hair mercifully falling down to hide my face.
"So – works every time?" I murmured when he came back, biting down further chuckles.
I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Well, when it doesn't invite old perverts to ogle me, these looks do have their perks sometimes."
I shook my head, muffling my laughter as I underlined a passage in my notepad. "You're a beast."
His eyes twinkled as he flashed his teeth at me in a smile. "Just yesterday evening you were certain I'm a human."
I stopped with the exercise to look at him for a moment, grinning. "Just yesterday you weren't seducing a poor librarian in front of your girlfriend. Not to mention smoking in a non-smoking zone."
He laughed and propped his head up on his elbow. "I thought you'll never berate me for that. Glad it came."
I smiled and shook my head, returning to the essay. "I wouldn't have. Didn't mean to. I mean, I got it why, the need for cigarette," I said progressively more quietly. Then I shot a glance at him and grinned again, shifting on the seat. "But you asked for it now."
He gave a low laugh, his eyes all shining as he watched me. Then he carefully, slowly lifted his fingers to my forehead and slid with the tips of his nails over my hairline. I shuddered a little and turned very still, staring at him. He leant down to me and touched that line, barely, with his lips. The tips of nails slid over my temple to my cheekbone and he placed that butterfly kiss on my eyelids with such reverent ardour I stiffened further, unable to move, hair rising, skin tingling. I started to take longer, deeper breaths, more erratic. I was afraid – and the fear heightened the thrill. I never wanted him to stop; I wanted to stay still like that forever, for fear of chasing the feeling away, and just feel his touch, feel that thrill go through me like a ray of light, golden and warm. He went on brushing with his kisses against my face and it felt like it was made of fireflies and his lips, though cool, was the fire that lights up their lanterns in the night. He took my chin in between his fingers, running his thumb over my lower lip, whilst he rested his forehead against mine, eyes shut.
Forehead to forehead, we sat there in that library, not wanting maybe to go back to whatever it was each of us was running away from. I slipped my fingers under his sleeves and slid with them over his upper arms and shoulders in ovals and circles. He smelled like Heaven. But the shoulders I was touching seemed unmistakeably masculine and adult, filled up the way 17-years-old boys usually aren't; somewhere in between of a young man and a boy, he was electrifying for me. I slid my forehead down, leaning it against his chest, heart beating fast – we stayed still, very still for a moment.
"I... got to go home," I said, clearing my throat. "I promised Angela we'd finish the homework together today."
It was a lie. But it could be arranged with one call.
"Yeah," he nodded, his voice raspy, too. But he didn't move and neither did I. We just stared each other in the eyes, he kept cradling my cheek in his hand. "I forgot. Got something for you." Then he fished in his pocket and took out an ivory shawl. "Will be cold tomorrow," he mumbled and wound it around my neck. I blinked, while he gently put his hands on my shoulders, stroking them. "So you don't get sick or something."
I blinked again and bit my lip, taking a sharp deep breath, this time to dispel the tingle in my eyes. He brushed against the outline of my face with the back of his fingers. I resisted the urge to lean into them. I was afraid. It was then that I understood how very afraid I was. Not of his violence; of his caring gestures.

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Inviting Angie over was a way escaping; but it was something else, too. I had one debt to make up for. A debt to Bree, for not contacting her.

"I don't think he's killed her, Angie," I murmured after a while of making notes, biting the tip of the pencil.
She gave me a doubtful look, but to my surprise she seemed somewhat interested. "Why not?"
"I don't know. It's just not adding up. He's violent and unstable and all, but he's logical, analytical. I dunno, if he had wanted her, he wouldn't have had to rape her, she was into him. I think to him it just wouldn't make any sense to assault her."
"Maybe she said no," Angela whispered, it was clearly difficult for her to talk about it.
I shook my head. "Then he just could have sweet-talked her some, take her out, it wouldn't have been that tough for him to persuade her to change her mind."
"Not sure if rapists think that way, Bella. Maybe it's just about hurting and humiliating someone, seeing them scared, pleading and powerless. Maybe it was about having her when she doesn't want it."
"A good point."
She glanced at me like I'm crazy.
"No, I still don't think he did it. But what you just said, we could bear this in mind that that's really what it was about for the killer."
"Why are you so sure Edward's not lying to you?"
"He was in hospital in Seattle for special treatment because he's ill, when it happened. And before that with Nurse MacFayden."
She grimaced and rolled her eyes. "Says he. I wonder if that hospital is the one that belongs to Dr. Cullen, too? And as for that other thing, yeah, I've heard that one, tell me another fairytale."
After a bit of silence, I asked: "You remember that dress she went to buy?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Can you describe it for me?"
"Dark blue, tulle, full A-line skirt, strapless, with a small train. It was really cute, sparkling with beads, kinda like the stars in the night."
That fit that one I kept seeing in my nightmares to a T.
"I think she bought it, Angie. Edward says he dropped her off there to shop, because she apologised to him and he promised to go with her to the dance. They sorted that blackmail thing out."
Angela shook her head, frowning. "He's trying to get you. He'd be a complete idiot to tell you anything else."
"I don't think he's lying. If she was just killed, I could see him doing it in anger, but not raping her. Look at what he did to Mr. Banner, he did it on the spot, exploding in anger. I think if he did it, if he killed her, he'd just dump her by the road straight out of the car, and hit the gas, driving till he cools down. This guy, the one who killed her, he dragged her into the middle of the forest and tried to cover her up at least a bit. That suggests a level of thinking. Edward doesn't really think when he's angry."
"Yeah, but maybe he calmed down when he killed her," Angela pointed out, pained. "Or how about..." she wavered, but went on, swallowing, "how about they started making out, she told him yes at first, then changed her mind, he lost it, raped her, killed her when he realized what he's done and hid her?"
I shook my head and bit the pencil again. "But where's the dress, Angie?"
"You don't know if she had bought it."
"I'm almost positive. And I think it would be easy to find out. Angie, that shop, is it still there?"
She swallowed, stiffening, but seemed intrigued despite herself. "Yeah."
"Any idea if the same shop assistant or assistants still work there?"
"Yeah, they do. That's why I avoid it."
"Look, Angie, it's just about an hour of ride to Port Angeles, right? When do they close, around six?"
"Yeah. You mean-" she was incredulous and I shifted and leant forward to her.
"Yeah, why not?" I stared her deep in the eyes, searching through them. I glanced at the clock. "It's half-past four, we can still make it," I stared her in the eyes again. "Don't you want to know the answer?"
She weighed it in her head for a moment, then whispered: "Okay."
She clasped the book shut, flung her things into her bag and sprang to her feet with sudden determination. "Okay, let's find out. No idea why it's so important or what it proves, but it's a start at least."
"Well, at least it would prove that Edward didn't lie about dropping her there. And that, as you said, is a start."
She helped me up, eyeing me with worry. "Can you make it?"
I smiled at her and gave a firm nod, going to swallow the Tramal again. I wouldn't let my body stand in the way of finding the truth.

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At the shop, when we asked about seeing Bree, the blonde shop assistant whose nametag read Cora frowned in thinking.
"The girl that was killed?"
Angela nodded, paling.
"Well... let me see. What was the colour of that dress she bought, Kelly?" she turned to the other shop assistant with wild ginger curls.
"Blue, I think. Oh yeah, it was that kind of knock-off of that Armani dress Zhang Ziyi was wearing at the Golden Globes two years ago, do you remember?"
"Yeah," she turned to us, brightening up before she saddened. "Yeah, she bought a blue dress here – now that I think of it, you were here with her two days before, right? When we were closing?"
Angela nodded. "Do you remember anything else, please? Anything else at all?"
"Like what, honey?"
"What did you put that dress in, a box and one of your store bags?" I asked.
"Yeah – yeah, I suppose so. We always do."
Angela asked: "Was there anybody with her? A boy, or some guy?"
"No, I don't think so. Kelly?"
The ginger shook her head. "No she was here alone."
"Do you remember if she looked happy?" I asked.
"Happy?" Cora chuckled. "Girl, she was on cloud Nine. I asked her if she hit the jackpot and she grinned at me and told me she did. That her crush told her he'd go with her to the dance. I remember I told her 'Congrats.' and gave her some advice for a hairstyle, so she'd make his jaw drop."
Angela and I crossed looks. She swallowed and nodded to me.
I turned to the sales lady again. "Has nobody come here to ask about her?"
"No, no one at all," she shook her head, knitting her brows in puzzlement. She shrugged. "I figured it wasn't important, when I came back here after the weekend of kinda thinking whether to go to the Police or not and found out they already caught the killer. Good thing he's locked up, too," she shuddered. "I always knew Pete would do something nasty one day."
We exchanged quick surprised looks with Angela. "You knew him?"
"Yeah. He used to live next door. Must have stopped taking his meds, the bastard. That's always the thing with schizophrenics, you never know what they do once they start ditching the pills."
This set off a red alarm in my mind.
"I think my dad messed up," I told Angela as we were hurrying away back to the car.
"How?"
"You know how I had a friend, Julia? She had schizophrenia and OCD. She would often confess to terrible things even though she did nothing, when she was psychotic. She couldn't really tell what was real and what wasn't then."
"So you think that Pete just confessed because he's ill?"
We got into the car and she turned the key in the ignition.
"Well, what if yeah? What if dad was just so relieved to find somebody to pin it on he gave it no efforts at all? You've been living here, you must have heard some things. How good a cop is my dad?"
She gave an uncertain shrug, puckering her brow as she pulled out of the parking lot. "Not sure, Bella. We don't get that much of crime here. Nothing complicated to solve, really, except for Bree's murder. He's a nice guy, though a bit gruff – my dad sometimes goes fishing with him and says he's great at that. But as a cop, no idea."
I bit my lip, all tense. "You know what I'm thinking? That dad knows, that he jailed the wrong guy. He definitely seems to think it was Edward, but still, he didn't seem to give it any special effort when he got that confession. What if he pressured that soldier, Pete, till he broke down and confessed, just to solve it so people wouldn't panic and he'd keep his job?"
Angela thought it through, horrified. "Well, your dad's middle-aged," she said after a while. "And there's a lot of unemployment. Forks ain't a rich place. He'd have it tough to find a new job. It's sick, but... it kinda makes sense."
"So that means that guy that killed Bree's maybe still out there."
We glanced at each other, tense, and she took a deep breath, queuing behind a Coca-Cola lorry, pale like Death. She raked her fingers through her hair. "Okay – okay. Sorry, it's a lot to process. So A, we know she bought the dress. A fact. B, Edward wasn't lying about promising to go with her. Another fact. C, we know the dress vanished. Fact again. D, the soldier's a schizophrenic and maybe did it, maybe didn't. E, maybe Chief Swan botched it. But where does that leave us?"
"A, Edward probably didn't do it. He had no motive. B, I have a hunch that dress is the key, Angela. Where the heck is it?" I threw my palms up, knitting my brows and leaning to the side to her a bit.
She gave me a quizzical look, tilting her head. "What's on your mind?"
I swallowed and ran my fingers through my hair. "What if that guy still has it?" I whispered, zoning in on her. "I mean, serials keep mementos. Not all, I think, but... what if?"
She blanched again, eyes growing huge. "Jesus Christ. You think it was a serial?"
"You said: of a type. I searched for girls that were similar to Bree and cases that were similar to hers. I did find them. Runaways, now presumed to be dead."
"Could be just coincidence."
"Could be. And maybe it isn't. What if it isn't, Angie?"
She was silent for long, blinking and turning her attention to the road, where two wackos tried to overtake each other at a tight spot. "Alright. Let's say it isn't. Let's say it was a serial. Let's say he's still out there. And your dad's not the best of cops and the Police won't help us, at least until we have something big in our hands. Bella, that's dangerous." Her knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. "That's bloody dangerous. Even if it's just a regular sicko murderer. What if... he somehow finds out we asked there at that shop?"
"I know," I said quietly. "That's scary as heck, isn't it?"
We looked at each other for a couple of seconds. "Okay," she muttered, frowning in determination. "Bree would have risked it for me, too. What do we do next?"
"First of all, if it's a serial, maybe he's looking for a new prey right now. Maybe, maybe he watched Bree on Facebook. Could we go through her friends and could you tell me whom do you know and do not know?"
And that's what we spent the rest of the ride doing on my Smartphone.

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Author's note: My deepest thanks to Kochabilka for the wonderful in-depth review! You gave me the energy to finish this much faster than I had thought I would be able to. Also, warm welcome to the new readers and subscribers:-) Read, review, follow, luv ya:-)