Posted 2023-08-27; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Once home, Bella wrapped up her notes and scrolled through her messages, most from colleagues at school but two from Jason. The first of his texts asked about her preference for a restaurant for dinner. The second announced that he'd picked one. She smiled at that one, replying that she was sure his choice was excellent. Like he'd let her pick where they'd eat. He was the foodie after all.

Bella turned on the news for background noise, washing up a few dishes and folding a basket of laundry as she listened to the reports. Another car chase on the highway. A rash of unsolved burglaries. A tight senate race. Courtroom trial video of a cult-related kidnapping case. "Creepy," she muttered, watching the strangely-clad cult members file into the courtroom to support their leader. Like the Amish, their clothing was anachronistic, but unlike them, this group was violent—and criminal. She squinted at the television. Their outfits weren't even historically accurate. "Wear a fichu, you dolts," she muttered, eying their turtlenecks. Underneath her derisive commentary was distinct unease. Religious beliefs were powerful. She didn't doubt the trafficking charges were warranted, based on what she'd heard of the case.

When the knock came on her apartment door a few hours later, she was almost ready. Popping in her earring, she made it to the entrance, swinging the door open just as Jason was ready to knock again.

"Well hello, beautiful."

She smiled at him, leaning in to accept his quick kiss as he pulled a bunch of flowers out from behind his back.

"Congratulations on your first big score."

Bella giggled and took the flowers. "Thank you. You, um, make it sound like I just busted a drug ring."

Jason chuckled, "What would a goody two-shoes math geek know about such wrongdoings? I'll leave that to the cop's kid."

"Goody two-shoes, my butt." Jason was a prankster of the first order. She gestured for him to step inside while she found a vase for the flowers. They were from a florist, the perfect pink buds smelling surprisingly sweet as she set them in a vase. "Those are really lovely." He hadn't brought her flowers before, and she couldn't help being pleased about how their relationship was progressing. They'd only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but things felt good with Jason. It was the first time she'd dated someone where she could imagine there being a future. After her few aborted first, second, and—rarely—third dates, it was a hopeful sign.

Despite living in Mississippi for nearly a year, Bella had not had a full "Southern" meal, as Jason put it, and tonight he was determined to set this right. The fried chicken and okra were delicious and the portions enormous.

"I'm going to roll out of here if I eat any more."

"There's still dessert," Jason promised, waggling his fork in her direction. "Cobbler. It'd be a sin not to try it."

In the end, they shared a peach cobbler, and Bella found herself regretting most of her earlier choices.

"Whoa."

"I told ya."

"You did. Okay. We're coming back again just for this."

Jason grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her. His expression made her breath catch a little, because it was a look she recognized—one she'd often seen between her parents. And while the feelings and attention it focused on her were flattering, she realized they were daunting too. She swept away the concern, chalking it up to nerves and fatigue. It had been a long day.

Thinking back to the dusty estate, she wondered if the staid and silent Mr. Cullen was enjoying a meal like this. He really had looked like he could use some loosening up.

"Do you have any plans for next Saturday?" Jason asked.

"No. Why?"

"Well, my parents'll be in town. I wondered if you'd like to join us for lunch. They have to head back in the evening, so it'd be short." He kept talking, babbling really, and Bella quickly realized the significance of the question.

"I'd love to meet your parents," she said, meaning it. Then she smiled, reaching over to touch his hand. "As long as you're not afraid to show them you're dating a Northerner."

He chuckled. "Not one bit. I think it might win them over, actually. You forget, his best man attended your Alma Mater."

"True." At least they wouldn't think less of her for attending Washington State. It was a good school, but it wasn't private, and she'd already encountered condescending attitudes in her department on that front—and because she was female.

Truthfully, Bella had been a bit nervous about Jason's background when they'd started dating, bluntly telling him all bets were off if he showed the same attitude. Jason had assured her that he wouldn't and had gone on to say that Klan membership wasn't a family tradition either, if that was also a worry.

It had taken her a few startled seconds to recover from that comment, a chilling reminder of a history that wasn't as much history as many wanted to think. Still, she'd appreciated his frank disavowal.

Walking home hand-in-hand with Jason, she was content, her thoughts drifting lazily. The warm night air carried with it the fragrance of gardenias and roses, and she recalled her mother's garden and its sweet lilacs and pansies—her favorites.

It took a beat for Bella to realize that her mom had been gone for ten years—almost to the month. Ten years. The cognizance of the time startled her, and she breathed out a quiet "huh."

"What?" Jason's response surprised her. She didn't think he'd been listening.

She shook her head. "Just thinking about my mom."

There was a thoughtful hum in reply. He knew the story, but it was one that he was uncomfortable with.

Most people were uncomfortable with the idea of a dead mother, though. She'd learned that quickly enough at fourteen.

Jason didn't press further, and she was glad to be left to her thoughts and memories. To say the experience of her mother's loss had been formative was an understatement. Bella had taken every scrap of what her mother had been and clung to it like a lifeboat. Most notably, that had expressed itself in becoming part of the church where her mother had been active. She'd paid the least attention to gardening, an irony at which she now shook her head. She wished she'd reversed the two things. It would have left her with something in the present. As it was, her mom's once lovingly tended garden was now a tidily mowed weed patch. At least the rain kept it green and the air clean. She missed that about Washington state. Mississippi was humid and wet, but the rain didn't freshen things like it did at home.

At her door, Jason paused, eyeing her in a way that told Bella he was waiting on her initiative. By her choice, things had gone slowly between them, physically. She was ready for that to change. When he kissed her, it went beyond the usual chaste gesture, starting with a gentle sweep of his tongue over her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to him, sliding her hands up from his shoulders into his hair, accepting more of his kiss.

They were both breathing a little heavily when it ended, and Jason's, "I should go," was husky. "I'll see you on campus tomorrow?"

"Mm-hmm." Briefly, she wondered what would happen if she invited him in, just as quickly resolving to keep to the plan she'd set for herself. "Good night."

With a last touch of his fingers to her cheek, he smiled and slipped away down the hall.

Bella went inside, showered, and changed for bed, sniffing the bouquet on her little table before taking her book to her bedroom. When her blinks became longer than the moments between them, she set her novel aside and turned out the light.

It was to the same level of light that she woke again some time later, though the quality had changed. Her slowly focusing eyesight told her that. What tripped off the first mental alarm was the acrid stench of antiseptic.

What had she spilled? Groggily, she mentally inventoried her medical kit. Betadine? But she hadn't brought it out in ages. Maybe the bottle had cracked?

A sharp metallic bang was followed by the sound of people arguing. Odd. Her neighbors weren't usually this noisy.

It must be a dream. A really weird dream.

A wave of nausea made her try to roll onto her side, which was when she realized that she couldn't.

Groaning, she blinked open her eyes. Her vision was blurry, thoughts fuzzy—like she'd taken a sleeping pill. Above her were rough wood slats and broken plaster.

This was no hospital. And she wasn't in her apartment.

Where then? Panic rose. Why couldn't she move?

While her limbs were pinned, her head wasn't, and she looked to the left and saw another cot. The figure lying there was wearing a long and ash-gray Halloween mask.

Now she was sure she was dreaming.

The mask moved.

There were no special effects that could make something appear so real. The clawed hand flailing by the inhuman face only confirmed her rising fears. Black liquid bubbled out of the creature's mouth, and it began to twitch. From somewhere close by, Bella heard a piercing scream.

She only understood that the scream was hers when it ended, the ache rising in her throat, her attempt to swallow strangled by acute thirst.

The being beside her lay still. It was an immobility she'd only seen once before, but it was an unmistakable kind. The gray skin was flaccid with death.

Bella turned away, breathing through her mouth, imploring her body not to vomit and meet the same fate.

In the near silence, she became aware of other voices—approaching rapidly and producing urgent but unintelligible sounds.

A quick spatter of staccato pops interrupted the voices. There was a grunt nearby and then silence.

Bella turned her head to the right. Protruding from behind a crumbling half-wall was a pair of boot-clad feet.

Like the body to her left, they weren't moving.

Bella tried swallowing again.

Stay calm, she told herself.

It was hard advice to take.

There was another pop and then a thump.

Were people being shot?

She closed her eyes, her breaths coming faster and faster. Pushing against the restraints that held her in place, she tried again to free her limbs. The movement only pressed her into the hard surface of the cot.

Somewhere nearby a floorboard creaked. Turning, she saw a large beige canvas bag leaning against a rough plaster wall. She heard the distinct sound of rapid footfalls. Louder and more authoritative voices continued in the strange language.

Bella's body trembled and ached while nausea roiled, fear splitting her thoughts from her feelings. She closed her eyes. The idea that she was dreaming was well and truly dispelled. What the hell was happening?

The next word she heard was singular and sounded like a shocked whisper.

When no other sounds followed, Bella lifted her eyelids a crack, hoping whoever was nearby didn't see her looking.

No such luck.

There was another indecipherable word. She felt hands fumbling near her feet and then her arms. She recognized the intonation of a question and opened her eyes wider. She couldn't lift her head, but she could see a figure leaning over her. She felt the bands that had held her hands and arms slip away.

As soon as she tried to sit up, her gorge rose, and she turned away, vomiting.

Exhausted, she collapsed backwards. A tall man clad in what looked like riot gear stood over her–at least she assumed it was a man, though the helmet obscured his face. Even this anonymous form brought relief. If the police were here, she was safe.

The man spoke to her, though she couldn't understand him. When she tried to move again, he held up his hand, gesturing that she should remain lying down.

"No problem," she murmured.

He continued to speak but not to her. Into a microphone, perhaps? He must be calling the paramedics, she decided.

The nausea persisted, soon accompanied by waves of dizziness. She'd been drunk all of once in her life, and this felt like the most unpleasant aftereffects of it. She didn't listen to whatever the man beside her was saying. She did notice another person arriving but stayed curled on her side, praying for the world to still itself.

Something touched her arm; a quick sting followed. Weakly, she tried to swat the bug away.

Then there was blackness.

It was a white ceiling that came into focus when she woke next. She was home! It had all been a nightmare. She blinked again, the white surface revealing unfamiliar, regular whorls.

Her relief disappeared.

No, she wasn't home, and she wasn't feeling well either. There were various aches all over her body but there were no restraints, so that was something. There must have been some sort of accident. Her lungs felt fine, so not a fire. A robbery? Poisoning? Being . . . drugged? She thought of her dinner with Jason. Could he have . . . no. She dismissed the idea. She couldn't—wouldn't—think that of him. She blinked again, her vision clearing even more. She could see the pattern in the ceiling now—waves, little rivulets precisely traveling from the left side of the room to the right.

Food poisoning. That must be it. The vomiting, the dizziness, the strange dreams. Of course. Disconcerting as the realization was, it also didn't come with any nausea. Instead, there was thirst and an urgent need to urinate. Both were good signs. She was on the mend.

"Vigilat," someone said.

A door creaked open.

"Tu sedens?" It was a man speaking.

Steeling herself for whatever she was going to see, Bella pushed herself up slowly, lifting her gaze last, exhaling in relief when she found two aged, bewhiskered, and very human-looking faces peering curiously back at her. Their thick white beards and mustaches were styled like those she'd seen in the Victoria era. They looked like twins.

Doctor twins? The idea seemed ludicrous.

Suppressing the almost manic urge to laugh, Bella smiled nervously instead.

As the men exchanged curious glances, Bella inspected their attire: old-fashioned dark suit jackets sat over formal shirts and fitted trousers. They really did look like something out of a period film.

Glancing down, she saw that she did too. She was dressed in a long, tan-colored wrap. The rough garment had been patched.

She cleared her throat. "Is this . . . a hospital or . . . ?"

The men murmured to each other. The taller one stepped closer. "Puraness mes intelligis?"

She shook her head. The man's intonation and inflection sounded almost like Russian to her.

"Do you speak English?" she asked timidly. "Espanol?" Surely someone here could understand her—and she them.

The man gave an apologetic shrug.

"Can I have some water?" Bella stood shakily, miming bringing a cup to her mouth. Perhaps they could understand sign language?

"Ah, okto," the shorter one said. He disappeared, returning with a metal tumbler, handing it to Bella.

"Thank you." Quickly, she took a large swallow. It was like drinking fire. She choked and gagged, dropped the cup, then sank to her knees, clutching at her throat, frantic to clear the burning.

The men spoke in urgent tones, though whether to her or each other, it wasn't clear. Her eyes watered and her nose ran as she coughed.

When she recovered enough to stand again and wipe at her face, they were frowning, obviously concerned—and just as obviously at a loss for what to do.

Not doctors, then.

Her need to pee was even more urgent now. She looked around the dim room. A pot sat on the floor by a small table with a bowl, pitcher, and towel.

A chamber pot? Was she in a rural area?

She stared at it, then at the two men. Would they take the hint?

No.

She coughed again.

The taller of the two gestured to his companion, curling his fingers forward, beckoning him and mumbling something. As the other man approached Bella, the taller one spoke again. "Proderit hoc siet."

His companion lifted something from his pocket, pinching it between his fingers. "Adhuc manere."

As he came closer, she caught a glimpse of what he was holding. It was moving—and he was aiming it towards her face.

"No—!"

He moved so quickly, he was already stepping away before the word left her mouth.

She gasped at the sudden, sharp pain, clapping her hand over her ear.

The men kept talking, miming that she should lie down.

Bella clawed at her ear, desperate to find and extract the source of the pain as it continued to move deeper. The room began to wobble, then parts of it waved back and forth. She fell back as her vision flickered, dark spots enlarging and shrinking, eventually turning to blackness.

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.