Six-Carlisle
I arrive at the Swan home before either Charlie or Bella do, hoping to be able to leave before either of them comes home. It feels intrusive to be in this home without either of them there, the one safe and entirely human space that was left for them. I find the key tucked behind the porchlight to let myself in. I wanted a chance to analyze the crime scenes without the oversight of a human. The details I can see versus the details I had to pretend to see are night and day. The house is dim; the windows do their best to let light in, but with the dark clouds settled in the sky, there is little light to allow in.
Entering into Charlie's at-home office, I quickly realize that he has worked well into the night, past when I was here. The wall is covered by a map of the Olympic National Forest and surrounding towns, the focus of Charlie's investigation. The location of the crimes poses a problem-he cannot know that there is an invisible treaty line which I cannot cross, and I pray that the discussion never comes to that. I stare at the photographs that have been attached to the wall with colorful thumbtacks. There is a serial killer in the forest, and one with apparent medical training and knowledge, which is why Charlie has called me into the investigation. All medical practitioners, all surgeons, leave their own type of calling card in the way they work on bodies whether they realize it or not. The hope in my working with the investigation is that I may be able to identify the calling card of this person.
The work of this killer is methodical, particular. Before cutting the bodies, all blood is drained, much like you would find in a morgue. Given the heavy-handedness of the cuts, the sex of the victims, and the attention given to each victim, I've nearly entirely ruled out that this is the work of a woman. It is not impossible but it is highly improbable in this case. The work spans across the forest, with particular focus in Forks and Port Angeles. The pattern we've identified is that the killer comes into towns and then retreats into the forest; several times, his trail has been discovered only to be lost the moment he disappears into the forest. Charlie has a particular concern in this case-all of the victims are young females with brown hair and brown eyes. The threat is chilling to us both.
Alice has found no cause for concern for Bella's safety at this time, but I have put her on watch regardless. It takes one decision that puts Bella in his line of sight for her to become the next target. Alice has been unable to determine who the killer is, a point of frustration for her. When she tries to focus on him, it becomes cloudy, almost like TV static. She was blindsided by his first murder, only a couple of weeks ago, and has seen no other warning visions before any of the following murders, though she was not looking as hard then as she is now.
I sit at the makeshift work table and pull files toward me. I am able to see minute details that human eyes would miss entirely. It allows me to determine more closely what surgical tools have been used, the grade, the sharpness of them. They are professional grade, something you would find at a hospital. Everyday citizens could not purchase these easily, though I suppose there is a black market for everything these days. The precise cuts are interesting to me. Typically, a serial killer targeting women will cause damage to the sex characteristics of women, but in this case, he has not. Instead, he focuses on their hair, their eyes, their fingers, and their abdomen. It does not fit into a typical profile. He seems to have come out of nowhere and vanishes back into nowhere until his next strike.
I hear Bella's truck before I see it; the loud mechanical rumbling is identifiable from a mile away. It was a constant source of complaint for Edward, who thought her truck was too loud and smelled too much of fumes. At all times, he was trying to buy her a different car and was consistently rebuffed by her. It was a miracle that she allowed the radio system to stay installed after her birthday. There is no chance that I will be able to clean up evidence of my being here and get my car out in time. I was too confident in my chances. The truck chugs around the corner and then rumbles to a stop. A groaning creak and a splat follow.
"Of. Course," she mutters. The truck door slams and she comes inside. "Hi, Carlisle," she calls to me. I leave the office, shutting the door behind me. I don't want her to come in and see the gruesome crime scene photos.
"Hi, Bella," I greet, entering into the kitchen. She gently wipes at a muddy book and then gasps.
"Oh, no!" Bella holds the book up, the cover torn. "Ugh, this is not my day." She drops the book on the counter and throws the muddy towel into the sink. "First, my jacket gets caught on a handle and rips, then I step into a mud puddle and have a wet sock all day, and now this."
"It would seem that today is not your best," I agree. "Why don't you change out of your wet clothes? I'll put some water on for tea."
"You don't have to-,"
"Doctor's orders," I say. "Wet socks are serious business, we can't have you falling ill because of it." She blushes and looks away quickly, muttering,
"Ha, ha." She swipes at the damp hair on her face and thanks me before heading upstairs to change. I make quick work of filling the tea kettle and turning the stove on. I rifle through the teas before finding a bag of chamomile and lavender. That seems like Bella. I pop it into a mug and wait for the water to boil. A few minutes later, the tea sits steeping on the counter. Bella bounds back down the stairs and stops abruptly. "You had to choose the most embarrassing mug in the cupboard, huh?"
"What do you mean?" I ask in confusion. From where I stand, the mug is plain and white, nothing marking it in any way.
"Oh, never mind," she says quickly. She reaches for it, but I snatch it and turn the mug around. It is a personalized mug, a faded and yellowing picture of Bella as a child on it. She smiles at the camera, wearing a cowboy hat, a sparkly tutu, and vampire fangs. I laugh loudly, unable to catch myself. She turns a deeper shade of red than I've ever seen on her cheeks. "My fashion sense has changed a little since then."
"Do you still have the teeth?" I ask. She glares at me, but the effect of it is weakened by the pervasive flush.
"No, but I'm working on getting them back." That gives me pause. She flashes a triumphant smile at me, pleased to have gotten the upper hand in this conversation. "How did you know that chamomile lavender is my favorite?"
"It just seems very…you," I say, still puzzling over the vampire comment. We lock eyes for just a moment past comfortable before we both break away. I ignore the fact that her heartbeat has sped up. She sips the tea silently and lets out a small sigh of contentment. For just a moment, I allow myself to consider the future Alice has seen for us. What would it be like to come home to her every day? Would she stay human for longer, to age nearer to my own age? The town thinks I am in my early twenties, maybe 24. There is, to their knowledge, not so much time between our ages. Would she turn a room into her own writing studio? She mentioned wanting to be an author.
Before my imagination can get the better of me, I shake my head of the thoughts. A wave of guilt washes over me as Esme's kind eyes come to mind. Alice's bomb of a vision, of Esme and I parting ways to find our mates, has left me reeling since she told us all about it. I shouldn't be here, enjoying our time together and inserting myself into their family home. I shouldn't be entertaining the thought of Bella as my mate. All of these thoughts have taken less than a second to think; Bella has taken no notice of my inattention.
There is a sudden shift in the scents around the Swan home, and I flare to attention. I race to the front door to see Jacob Black moving up the path toward it. Bella followed me into the doorway, and whispers from behind me,
"What's wrong?" She grips my arm, nervousness radiating off of her. I cannot blame her-she's had unwelcome attention from many who see her as a meal too many times for her to completely relax. The warmth from her hands seeps through my sweater sleeve, and I struggle to ignore the lack of space between us.
"Jacob Black is here," I whisper back, turning to look at her. Her brown eyes go from frightened to irritated in a moment. She unlatches from my arm and shoves in front of me. I step aside, into the living room. From here, he cannot see me but I can see him. I am just beyond his eyeline, close enough to still grab hold of her arm if Jacob tries to force his way in. Bella throws the door open and stands in the doorway with one hand on hip and one gripping the doorframe. I can hear her heart thrumming, blood pumping through her in anger.
"What do you want, Jacob?" she snaps.
"Is there a bloodsucker in your house?" he asks. The hate in his voice is clear. I hear Bella's teeth clack together as she sets her jaw. "Never mind, I wanted to talk about…well, talk to you."
"I don't want to talk to you, Jacob," she replies. "And contrary to what you think, you don't just get to take what you want because you want it."
"Come on, Bella, you don't have to be like this," he says. I wince-that was not the right thing to say.
"And exactly how am I being?" There is a fire in her voice I have never heard before. I cannot believe he hasn't caught aflame on the porch steps.
"Like…you're blowing this out of proportion, Bella! I know you wanted to kiss me. I've seen how you look at me." My mouth opens in disgusted surprise and I step forward, ready to intercede. Bella drops her hand from the doorframe and holds it out, pressing against my chest to stop me.
"Jacob, you have no right to be here, and even less right to tell me how I may or may not feel. You violated our trust. You made a decision for me. I don't care if you think I'm overreacting. You're not welcome at this house ever again," Bella says. Her voice quavers, but she juts her chin out stubbornly.
"What are you going to tell you dad when he asks why I'm not here anymore? That you've taken back up with bloodsuckers?" His words are hard, mocking. "Or will you tell him that I 'assaulted' you?" A humorless laugh follows.
I've had enough. I gently remove Bella's hand from my chest and step behind her, into Jacob's eyeline. He takes a step back and his eyes narrow.
"Jacob, that's enough," I say. "Bella has made it clear that you're not welcome here again. You need to go now."
"I'll tell your dad that you assaulted me," Jacob threatens. "That I was over to fix the sink and you forced yourself on me. I'm just a kid, Bella. It's so awful when adults coerce children, isn't it?"
A cyclone of emotions cycles over her before settling into angry tears.
"How dare you?" she whispers. "You are disgusting, Jake. You've turned into a monster. I never thought you would stoop so low." He quirks a defiant eyebrow at her, a smirk playing on his lips. Her hand, still in its cast, twitches. I grab it.
"Do not hit him," I say, "you'll break your hand again." Her nostrils flare as she glares between Jacob and me. "Leave, Jacob. Do not make Bella repeat herself."
He watches me, calculating. A ripple moves down his body, and I see it for what it is: a threat that he could transform at any time, that he could turn Bella's home into a battleground. Bella sees it too, and shouts his name sharply. Without another word, Jacob turns and sprints into the woods; a tail whips out of sight as he transforms and crashes through the trees. As I shut the door, Bella spins on her heels, storms past me, and grabs a pillow off of the couch. Lifting it, she burrows her face into it and a scream rips out of her. It is animalistic. Raw. She does it again before throwing the pillow back onto the couch.
Her face is flushed with fury and her hair like a nest as she stomps back over. Dried tear tracks mark her face, pale against her pink cheeks.
"Listen, I know you've been a vegetarian for like, 300 years now, but can you please make an exception? He's not even a human, so I think you could get by on a technicality," she says. Her voice is scratchy from screaming.
"I'm afraid I cannot," I say. She rolls her eyes and goes back into the kitchen to get her tea. She pops it into the microwave to heat it back up, pressing the buttons with much more aggression than necessary.
My phone buzzes with a text from Alice.
You disappeared. What happened?
Quickly, I type back, We had a run-in with the Black boy. Everything is okay.
I feel like she hates me now, Alice responds.
She does not hate you, Alice. Just keep looking out. It'll be okay.
Charlie arrives soon after the dust settles with Jacob. Bella flits around the kitchen, cooking dinner for her father while we sequester ourselves away in the office. Charlie is nervous-there have been no new attacks recently, and it has disrupted the pattern he was beginning to build against the killer. No one has seen anyone suspicious in the Forest or surrounding cities. I offer to take my family camping near the scene of the last crime-we have to hunt soon anyway-which Charlie tries to dissuade. When I insist, he gives in with a grumbled thanks. It would seem that Bella got her ability to accept help from her father.
When dinner is ready, I take this as my cue to leave. Charlie tries to convince me to stay and my declination goes unheard.
"Dad, Carlisle is on a special diet," Bella finally says, taking pity on me. "He can't eat any of this." Charlie acquiesces with a shrug and starts serving himself.
"Well, thanks, Doc," he says. "I appreciate the help. Be safe camping this weekend."
"I'll walk you out," Bella offers. We walk outside to my car silently. "You're camping, then?" she asks, breaking the silence.
"We are," I confirm. "Precautionary, in case you continue to visit-which you're welcome to do at any time," I add. She nods, chewing on her lip. Her eyes gaze past my shoulder, unfocused, towards the woods.
"I'm glad you were here today." She says it like a confession. In spite of trying my hardest to work against Alice's vision, I am also glad I was here. I do not want to consider how Jacob may have behaved otherwise. "Sorry you got dragged into teenage drama. Although it still wouldn't be the worst thing if you happened to accidentally break your vegetarianism on your way home." She peers up at me with hopeful eyes. I raise my eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. "God, you are like, offensively noble." I laugh and pull her into a hug.
"Sorry to offend, Bella," I say. "You'll be happy that I didn't accidentally break my vegetarianism in time."
"Fine," she says. We break apart. "Thank you, anyway. Be safe camping this weekend."
Another text from Alice as I slip out of the driveway and down the road makes me grind my teeth and grip the wheel tighter.
The timeline is moving up.