Bad Moon Rising

"Shame what's happenin' to this town."

It wasn't like Edward to listen in on other people's conversations, but it was hard not to when the old man to his left spoke so loud. Wasn't like the saloon was that big neither, just a few empty tables and the bar that ran the length of the long wall. The bartender was another old man - the only kinda man this town seemed to make - who was half-deaf and not keen on regulatin' his patron's volume.

So, Edward sipped his ale and kept his ears open.

"Mighty shame indeed," said the companion, a large man with a scraggled beard and pox-marked face. "You see what's been happenin'."

"Oh, I see it and I don't like it none."

That was the thing with old men: never fans of change. Always dreamin' of better days that never existed. Edward would'a laughed, but that would'a gave him away. He was supposed to be a fly on the wall, his eyes on the bank across the street. This saloon provided the perfect window to the rebuild - fancy new vault and all. Edward could enjoy a drink while performin' a vital role in the job.

Carlisle would want notes on the rebuild by dusk. The sun was just startin' to set. He should really get on his way, but the old men kept chatterin'.

"First the Sheriff's gone soft on these Indians and next his daughter gone done run off with one?"

"Saw them walkin' down to the Old General Store the other day. Made me near sick to witness."

"Not proper for a young lady like that."

"Not proper at all. Don't give no hoots about his money neither. Anyone can strike it rich on oil, and no amount of fine things can wash the heathen from him."

Bank be damned, Edward was curious.

He couldn't stop himself from askin', "You fine gentlemen don't happen to be speakin' of a Mister Jacob Black, now are ya?"

"The very same," said the man with the beard, his beady eyes curious under his bushy brow. As if he just now realized he and his partner were not the only patrons of this establishment. "And who might you be?"

"Carlisle Cullen's son, Edward."

"That newfangled doc's kid huh?" He patted the seat next to his companion. "Come and take a seat. Learn a thing or two from yer elders."

Though Edward really should be keepin' his eyes on the bank, he couldn't say no. It would be rude to decline an invitation to a conversation he invited himself to. He sidled up to their table and placed his beer down.

"What's got yer mind on Jacob Black?" the loud man asked.

"I saw them the other day as well. My sister and I ran into them at the General Store. They make...quite the pair."

"That's one way of speakin' it."

There were much harsher words to be used against a pairing like Miss Swan and her beau. Other towns, most towns, would cast out a couple like that. Folks was backwards, intolerant. Edward didn't mind it none; love wasn't his business. Other people had nothin' better to do than judge, and so their hate went on and on like the worst of plagues.

Hell's Bells herself, on the other hand, was another story entirely.

"Can't imagine what he sees in her," Edward said plainly.

The loud man shot him a confused look. Like he'd sprouted wings and took up tap dancing. "What'd'ya mean by that boy?"

"She's quite improper. Brash. Outspoken."

"I blame a lack of a momma for that," the bearded man said, taking a sip from his drink. "It's a sad tale. Sheriff caught his wife with another man in their marriage med when the girl was little. He chased them both outta town. Young Bella chose to stay with her daddy and her momma didn't even try to keep her."

"Terrible things happen to a woman with no womanly infuluence in their lives," the loud man sighed, his own beer down to nothin' but foam. "Probably why she finds it dandy to mate with a Native."

"Look at this, Jeb," the bearded man crooned, his attention now out the window. Literally. "Watch this here boy make a fool'a himself."

Outside, a young man struggled to keep himself upright under the weight of stack of plywood. It wasn't much, just unwieldy. Something a novice would have a hard time maneuvering. Likely that wood would go to fixin' up the roof Hell's Bells shot through. Ain't no surface of that bank not riddled with bombs nor bullets.

Edward wondered, briefly, if they would repair the fine tiled floor. He had yet to see any masons step foot on site.

"Well, you gents have shown me a mighty good time but I best be off now."

"Good day to ya lad. Come round anytime."

Edward tipped his hat and left the saloon.

There was a hitching post round back, complete with a roof and hay loft. Edward had taken Delilah, not because he couldn't do the walk but because he had hoped to take a ride out to the canyon before the night descended. Ridin' cleared his mind, helped him breathe. Stayin' cooped up in that house with six other people was...a lot.

Delilah nickered as he neared, rearin' her head back as he untied her from the post. There was hay to munch on and she'd had a carrot before he'd stopped inside. All things considered, she should have been right as rain, but she was actin' like there was a fire under her hooves.

"What in the world's gotten into ya?" Edward muttered, pulling on her harness to stop her from jerkin' away.

Turned out he shoulda listened to the horse.

A bullet cracked down the alley, pingin' off the metal feed bucket, ricochetin' into the ground, and stirrin' up dust. Delilah neighed and slipped from Edward's grip. She ran off and down the road, abandonin' him.

When the dust settled, Edward found himself face to face with Hell's Bells.

"I am sick 'n tired of you!" she shouted, another bullet lodging itself in the plank nearest his left ear. "First you rob my town, now you tarnish my name!"

This was assault. There was nowhere to run. She had him pinned and she knew it.

Edward ducked and rolled out the way as the wooden beam above him splintered and fell. The hay atop the loft came pourin' down upon his head, into his clothes, under his boots in a shower of golden rain filling the air with dust and husk.

When the smoke cleared, there was a pistol in his face.

"Rest well in Hell, Mister Cullen."

The gun went off, but it wasn't hers.

If this was the afterlife, it felt hell of a lot like Forks. The sun still beat down on the back of Edward's neck. Sweat still poured from his forehead and his arms to stain his clothes. Splinters still dug in his palms from where he fell upon the remains of the wooden beam.

His eyes locked onto Hell's Bells. Hers were the same forest brown, still deep and dark and furious. But they were wide. So very wide. And wet.

Why were they wet?

He looked down and his mouth went slack.

Blood gushed from the wound at her side, staining her clothes a deep crimson. It splashed on the dirt, seepin' into the thirsty earth. He'd seen blood before, but not like this. She swayed on her feet, shocked and weak, and nearly fell to the ground before Edward could catch her.

Horse hooves beat down on the dirt, closin' in quick. There wasn't much time.

Edward dragged Hell's Bells round the side of the barn, proppin' her against the wood where she wouldn't be spotted. She sunk to the ground like a rag doll, her legs lookin' all wrong.

She moaned loud as a wendigo.

"Quiet!" he hissed, tryin' to hide his panic. One moment he's boutta meet his maker and the next he's hidin' a body. Life was strange as it was thrill'n, and he could use a little less thrill right bout now.

He raised a hand to her lips, covering her mouth. Damned creature she was, she tried to bite him. He pulled his hand away, scowling as she bared her teeth.

"Hush now if you wanna live!"

Though her scowl deepened, she kept quiet.

Edward stood and brushed the blood off his hands, red disappearin' into his black chaps. He thanked his lucky stars his blues had been in the wash. Last thing he wanted was to look guilty to the pair ridin' his way. They looked fearsome and hard, like times had been rough and they were the ones dishin' out the dealin'.

"Good day to ya," Edward said with a tip of his hat.

Without the hat, it was hard to make out much of the pair. Odd, they were: one woman and one man, both on black horses large as beasts. Their saddle bags were stuffed full, likely their prizes from towns down yonder. And the rifle - long range, well maintained - on the back of the woman's horse. That beat any callin' card.

"Well well well, if it isn't one of Carlisle's brood," crooned the man with the dark skin. He looked like Death himself, eyes sparkling like onyx stars. "Mighty long way away from the herd, aren't ya boy?"

"I s'pose I am."

"There was a girl just here. One named Hell's Bells. We've been follow'n her a mighty long way."

Damn this woman and her reputation!

"I know her," Edward said, cocking his head down the road. "She was boutta tan my hide before the shot scared her off. I must've y'all to thank for that."

"She took somethin' from us. Something precious," the woman said, her gaze unkindly and hard. "You wouldn't be tryin' to get in the way of that, would ya?"

"No ma'am."

The pair exchanged a look.

"Say, this wasn't the town that had y'all in a tizzy now was it?" the black man wondered, his teeth bright white against his dark skin. Sharp as fangs, they were. "Somethin' about a robbery foiled by a little girl with a black horse and two pistols. Sound familiar, Victoria?"

"Very familiar, Laurent."

They stared Edward down, daring him to call them out on their brazenness.

Victoria and Laurent. Edward knew those names. They were two of three mercenary bandits known as the Trackers. Outlaws of the worst degree, huntin' and killin' with no rhyme nor reason. Not to survive but for the joy of it.

Edward was caught in their web. He could either deny their truth and implicate himself in some bigger scheme against Hell's Bells, or he could point them in Hell's Bells direction. It would serve her right for the strife she'd caused him. Surely she was listenin' to their every word, waitin' in agony to see what Edward would pick.

She was trapped, and she knew it.

It didn't feel good to have Hell's Bells at his mercy, not like he thought it would. In fact, it felt sticky. Like he was messing with forces beyond his mortal capabilities.

"Let's just say we both have reason to want Hell's Bells gone. Why would I step in your way?" Edward suggested, playin' up the innocent act as good as Esme taught him. He was never an actor, not like his 'sisters', but he had his moments. He prayed this was one. "Whatever business you have with her is none of mine."

"I'd hope not." Victoria pulled at her reins, ready to move on. "We'll be outta yer way soon as we have Hell's Bells. This town is too small for the both of us."

"Carlisle will be pleased to hear it."

The Trackers rode off with Hell on their heels, leaving Edward in their dust.