We make it to the top of the cliff. All his brothers and sisters are there. He's shivering, shuddering, violently. I'm cold, too. We're both cold. The water had been like ice, and the wind is still pulling at us. I'm too numb to wonder any more. How he could possibly have lived through our fall. The rocks. The waves. The climb.

Perhaps we are both already dead. Perhaps clinging to him in the frigid water was just my soul unable to let him go, unable to let go of this dream of life just yet. But if that's true, then I should have been dead – we both should have been dead – since the van crash. I can't believe that. That the emergency room and my dad and the journal and everything that has happened since Tyler's van kissed my truck has been some kind of half-way house between this world and the next. So Edward and I must still be alive now, too. It's just that I don't know how.

We've barely set foot at the top and already Edward is disentangling from me, pulling me forward off his back. I don't want him to. I want to stay, wrapped around him. But he's stronger than I am.

"Take her, Alice. Take her." In a desperate voice. As he practically throws me into his sister's arms. And bolts for the woods. His last words float back,

"I can't – "

"I'm taking her home, Edward," Alice calls. Her voice is like music.

He answers from out of sight. "Are you CRAZY?"

He must have stopped running.

"All roads lead to home, Edward. Trust me. All of her roads lead to our home."

"I hate you! I hate you!"

As I stand here, shivering like to shake my bones apart, my teeth chattering, with Alice's arms wrapped tightly around me.

The clouds are lowering, and I think I feel a faint drizzle starting up. The little patch of sunlight that had been out over the water has disappeared. Alice is as cold as I am. Even her breath against my ear is cold.

I don't see Jasper any more. Maybe he's gone to find Edward. Emmett and Rosalie are jogging back toward the trail head. And Alice is … carrying me. Little Alice. She's jogging, too. Carrying me. And not even breathing hard.

"Emmett, you drive Bella's truck. I'm taking the Volvo."

As soon as we get back onto the real road, Alice drives like a bat out of hell. Part of me is still clinging to Edward in the sea, but enough of me is here in the car that I'm pressed all the way back in the seat, white-knuckling the handgrips. The tree trunks are strobing past us, black – grey – black – grey, and I worry about Alice and seizures.

I didn't jump back there, I fell: so I speak up in a shaky voice.

"Alice … maybe the house won't burn down before we get there … "

"Oh, Bella, I'm sorry. It's just you really need a hot bath and dry clothes."

She brakes and downshifts like silk, giving me a sympathetic glance with her golden eyes.

Do they all have golden eyes?

"And food." She's still talking to me, or to herself – no, she has her cell phone out and is telling Emmett to swing by the supermarket on the way home. Her words blur past me, and the trees blur past the window, even though we're going a lot slower than we were. As if in a dream, I hear snatches of Emmett's voice.

"Aw, c'mon, Alice … … long that's gonna … … ole thing … … don't even … fourth … got her … fifty-two and … … fit to bust herself."

My truck is a he …

"Oughta make Edward … "

"Can't," Alice answers him. "Edward's still playing fox and hound with Jasper in the woods."

They tease each other like real brothers and sisters. Or at least how I imagine brothers and sisters would be.

"Just deal, Emmett." Alice throws me another smile, sweet and kind and a little impish. Suddenly I feel as if a whole lifetime of loneliness is welling up through my heart.

Alice sees, and reaches for my hand. We're both still teeth-chattering cold.

"It's going to be all right, Bella, it really is. I'm pretty sure."

Alice reminds me of Angela. She looks at me when she talks to me. She hugs me with her golden eyes. But there's something about her, something wistful. Maybe she's been lonely, too.

I look out the window again and realize that I have absolutely no clue where we are. The road is winding up into green, green forest. I don't see any other cars.

"We're almost there, Bella, almost there."

The Cullen house is big and open. The outside drifts into it through the glass walls that face the gardens and the twisting driveway. Everything is greens and browns, with splashes and sprays of red and mauve and yellowy white – first flowers of the year. I don't even know their names, but they are giving off sweet hints of fragrance in the soft rain. The lawn glows like emerald in the waning light. At its edge, the pine trees sigh, dark and mysterious, with seven white aspen, standing like slender ghosts among them. The water patters down from the sky, and drips from all the eaves.

I turn around and around on the walk of natural stones. Alice lets me. They have a trellis gazebo all hung with a woody vine. Rocks and plantings meander behind it. I hear a trickle of running water, and another sound. Tock, it rings, as if through mist. Wait. Tock. The intervals are never quite the same.

This place is like a different world. Like a poem in a language I don't know. And Alice is leading me in at the door. She had the heat on full blast in the car all the way here, but her hands are still cool, even cooler than mine, even though I'm the one all wet through from the sea. Is this also part of what's wrong with her, I wonder?

"Come on, Bella," she says, pulling me across the threshold. "We have to get you changed."

There is a woman there to greet us. She is older than Alice and me, but not by very much. She's lovely. Just lovely. Her hair is almost the same color as my Mom's, and I suddenly miss my Mom like crazy. I wonder where she is and what she's doing. I realize that I'm never really going to live with my Mom again. Ever. I want to cry but I don't dare. Not here in this beautiful, perfect place.

Mrs. Cullen – that has to be who this is – reaches for me gently. Her fingertips just brush my hand. Her eyes are hazel gold, too, and her fingertips are cool, almost cold. And I can't ignore it any more. These people are not normal. They are different. Really, really different.

Steer clear of him, Bella. Not everything that's pretty is good.

"Bella. Come in. You gave us such a fright. Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

And yet look how kind they are. As I'm standing here inside their door: smelling of kelp, and tracking seawater onto the parquet. I don't want to be afraid of them.

Inside, the house is all creamy walls and polished wood, with burgundy and gold, and always, always the green, coming in through the windows from outside. Everything here is old. Heavy. Deep. Plush. I glimpse a huge fireplace, and the shiny black of a grand piano in a sunken great room beyond the spacious foyer.

Alice has her hand in mine again, steady as a rock in my shivering one.

"The guest bathroom's upstairs," she whispers. I let her lead me. The stairs are wide, gently curving, with a deeply polished banister. It's smooth and cool, and gives off a faint fragrance.

Set into the wall of the stairway is a larger-than-life hewn wood cross. I've never seen a cross tilted on its side like that before. It follows the slope of the stairs, as if, in climbing the stairs, one is walking up the cross. As if the stairs are Jacob's ladder. As if Alice and I are the spirit doves, going up and coming down. I wonder again if I'm alive, or if I'm dead.

We're already in the hall at the top, and Alice is saying, "I'm just going to get some dry clothes for you. Wait for me here, okay?"

"Okay."

The first part of the hall is actually a balcony. The view back past the stairs shows the great room again. I wonder who plays the piano? Maybe they all do.

Alice is back with a laundry basket heaped with really thick towels and what may be a dress or robe mixed in.

"This way." And she leads me a few steps down the hall to the guest bath. She shoulders her way in, and I follow. It's really … big. There's a shower and a bathtub. The tiling looks like some kind of salmon colored marble. The cabinets are all in dark wood; there are little alcoves, and misty curtains and a big window that looks out on the back gardens, where the trickle of water and the tock sound are still echoing softly. The soaps are carved like flowers and there's potpourri in a porcelain bowl and candles tucked in little recesses in the wall. I think of the bathroom in my dad's house, with the creaky step on the stair, the utilitarian medicine-cabinet mirror over the sink, the fluorescent light, and the shower and toilet practically on top of each other – and for the first time in my life I feel like my dad and my mom and I are poor.

It's a horrible, disloyal thought, and I hate myself for thinking it. But it's also the truth. We're poor. I dig my hands into the pockets of my soggy jacket.

"My cell phone!"

It's gone. Lost in the sea when I fell. Probably smashed to pieces by now.

"It's okay, Bella. You can use our house phone." Alice's cool hand is on my shoulder, her eyes full of sympathy. I'd never thought to get insurance for the phone. I wonder how much it will cost to replace it. I think of myself with no way to call either parent, now, if I were ever out somewhere in an emergency.

"Do you want to use the phone, now?" she asks.

I should. But I feel like a drowned rat, and I stink of seaweed and salt. I want to get warm again, human again.

"Come on," Alice says, "It's not that late. You have time." And she starts showing me where everything is, how to operate the faucets, and about eight different kinds of bath beads, soaps and shampoo.

"I think you'll like this one – " Her pale hands open an amethyst-colored bottle. The fragrance is delicate and mysterious. "Mimosa," she says. I do like it.

Alice bustles around setting out the towels and the change of clothes, and suddenly the laundry basket is empty. "You can put your wet clothes in here," she says. "Just put it outside the door. I'll run them through the wash for you."

I'm shaking again, and don't know if it's from cold – which feels embedded in my bones even though the house is quite warm – or from the fall. Somewhere in the universe of all possible moments, Edward and I are still floating in the sea, still falling through the air. Somewhere, he's still calling my name. Alice puts her hands on me again.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks.

"I think so." It's a lie. I'm almost in tears, though I don't know why.

She squeezes my arms gently. "Holler for me if you need anything. I'll hear. This house has great acoustics."

"Thanks, Alice."

And she's gone.

I do light the candles. I wash the sea off of me and out of my hair in the shower. I need something to hold onto, but there's only the water. I let the sound of it hide my gasping breath, the pelting spray rinse my face. The bath gel and shampoo feel like silk. The loofah cloth wakes up my skin, and even the muscles underneath. The room fills with steam, and mimosa scent.

The Cullens' bathtub is deep instead of long, and they have endless hot water. I sink in – all the way up to my neck – and finally I am able to rest. My bones return to the sea, as the outside green goes down to dusk. Nothing exists but stillness, and rain, and a trickling stream, and tock, and candlelight that flickers along the walls.

I hear my truck. I hear a garage door opening and then closing. I hear voices downstairs. The house comes to life with them; it fills up with the sounds. This is a busy household full of people. Something I've never experienced before.

I look at my hands. My fingers are all pruney. I miss both of my parents. We could have been a family, too, even if only a very small one. Our house is small and poor, but it would be cozy with three of us in it.

Time to get out of the water and get dressed. It's nearly dark outside already. The towels are thick and warm. The shelf where Alice had put them is a heater, I discover.

I've never seen underwear like the set that Alice has laid out for me. It's ivory-colored, finer and softer than anything I've ever worn: a smooth camisole, with matching underdrawers that come just past my knees, and pretty patterns embroidered, cream on cream, at every edge and hem. There's a full-length mirror set in a slight recess in the wall. I look at myself and feel like I'm going backward in time. There are warm, thigh high socks, and last in the basket is a plain, dark blue dress. Plain except that it's made of soft velvet. I pull it over my head and it goes almost to the floor, with a high scoop neck, long thin sleeves, and a satin ribbon under the bodice. It fits me perfectly and I wonder, who is this person in the mirror? I've never seen her before. Even with her hair towel-dried and stringy down her back, she's pretty. She looks like a girl, a lovely girl, a romantic girl. Someone a boy would want to know. Why is Alice dressing me like this? I think of virgin sacrifices.

The knock on the door nearly scares me out of my skin.

"Bella?" It's Alice. "Are you okay?" I've been up here so long; maybe she thinks I drowned in the bathtub.

"I'm okay. I'm dressed."

She comes in with a hairdryer and big-toothed comb in her hand.

I sit, and Alice works the warm dry air through my hair and down to my scalp. It feels good. She never pulls. We're mostly quiet, and I find my eyes closing again. I could fall asleep if I'm not careful.

Alice starts parting the hair at my temple in threes. "Rosalie never lets me do her hair," she confides. "And mine, well, there's not much you can do with it anyway."

"You can have my hair," I murmur. "To braid, I mean."

"Thank you, Bella." And this girl that I barely know hugs me tentatively. With her arms this time.

Her fingers are amazingly quick, and accurate, and soon my hair fits the dress, with silky soft plaits on each side, that end somehow in a chignon at the back. I'm ready for the staircase, with its mysterious cross, and the strange family down below.

Something is coming up the stairs. Aroma. My tongue appears between my lips. I'm famished. I can only imagine what they eat. Exotic food. Spices and textures and colors. But hopefully not endangered species.

"Esme made chicken soup." Alice leads me down by the hand. It smells delicious, and I'm glad it will be something I can handle.

There's noise coming from the great room, now. I glimpse, and hear, Emmett and Jasper whaling each other at a video game. Rosalie is there, too, and I can't tell if she is just cuddling against Emmett or waiting her turn. I can't make sense of it. This family of golden-eyed people with unknown powers, and they're playing – what is it? I don't even know. Something with guns and explosions. Jasper and Emmett wave to me. Rosalie does not. I don't see Edward.

I'm seized with sudden fear. "Where's Edward?"

"He's in his room," Alice says, as we reach the archway into the kitchen. Mrs. Cullen is there, and so is the doctor.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Bella," Alice answers. "I promise. He's fine."

Doctor Cullen is approaching me. I can't help glancing at him. "Did they tell you what happened?" I ask.

"Yes."

"He … he was under me. There were rocks." I know he was all right. I was clamped onto his back and there was no blood, nothing. Just like his arm was stronger than Tyler's van. And how could he have possibly climbed if he'd been hurt? But there's no reasoning with my fear.

"He's not hurt, Bella."

"You checked him?"

Dr. Cullen smiles. "I did. He's stronger than he looks."
Alice is, too.

They all are.

My heart is beating its way out of my chest by way of my throat. Alice has taken a half step away from me. Mrs. Cullen is at the other side of the kitchen island. She puts the soup bowl in her hands down on it, looking embarrassed, and takes a step back, too.

"You must be starving," she urges, gesturing to the soup. "I hope you like it."

I haven't eaten since lunch, and that one fact erases everything else as the soup smell wafts into me from the bowl and the stove. I go and sit on the high stool at the island and just eat.

Dr. Cullen smiles. "A good appetite. That's a good sign. I'd still like to check you over when you're done. Just to be sure. If that's all right with you, Bella."

He can check me over. My father trusts this man, so I do, too.

I'm sighing over the soup. It's rich and creamy, with dumplings, and meaty chunks of chicken.

Mrs. Cullen looks like she's blushing, though I can't see any color on her face. "It's Campbell's."

And that makes me feel better again. These people may be richer than makes any sense, even on a top surgeon's salary. They may have super powers I don't understand, but their mother can't cook.

"I should call my dad."

"Of course." Dr. Cullen picks up the handset from the wall and dials. My dad's voice comes over on speaker.

"Swan here."

I still have soup in my mouth, so Dr. Cullen carries the ball.

"Hi, Charlie, it's Carlisle."

"What's up, doc?"

I can't help blushing for my dad, but Dr. Cullen laughs good-naturedly. "Just wanted to let you know that Bella's over here at the house with us."

"Is she okay?"

Parents must have disaster radar. Even mine.

"She's fine, Charlie. Alice has been wanting to invite her over for quite a while, now, and I guess today was the day. Hope you don't mind it was so spur of the moment?"

"Heck, no. They're kids, Carlisle. Even yours."

"True indeed. Would you like to speak to Bella?"

"Sure thing."

Dr. Cullen hands the phone to me. Every single word that he's said has been the God's own truth. And yet he has managed to cover over an entire near death experience in the time it took me to wipe my mouth. I know I have to play along … just like I protected Edward's journal. But it's making me nervous with Dr. and Mrs. Cullen standing right there and everything on speaker.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. You having fun there?"

"Yeah, I – "

"Bet Esme's feeding you right now."

"Yeah, actually."

"Listen, Bells, you have a good time. I'll catch a bite at Bessie's and meet you back at the house after. Make it before nine, though; you've got school tomorrow."

"No, Dad, I'll be back for dinner." Well, a pretty late dinner at this point, but … "I – "

"It's okay, kid. I'm glad you're making friends."

And now I'm blushing for myself. But then, the Cullens are even more socially isolated than I am. Maybe they won't think I'm pathetic. Even though I'm pretty sure they're never going to tell me their secret. Just save me from a horrible death, and then send me back to my world.

"See you back before nine," my dad adds. And then he hangs up.

Alice is nowhere to be seen. She must have slipped out of the kitchen when I wasn't looking. Mrs. Cullen presses me to have another bowl of soup. It's embarrassing. I'm the only one eating here.

"It's all right, Bella, we've all eaten already."

Where are the leftovers then? And why are they only serving me soup?

But they're fussing over me. Mrs. Cullen with her soup, and then Dr. Cullen with his stethoscope, and I don't want to be ungrateful or rude. They're kind. So kind.

Alice is back at my elbow, with a stack of schoolbooks in her arms. She looks at me a little shyly. "Do you want to do homework together?"

Mostly I just want to lie down. And Edward. I want Edward. I want to at least thank him. Actually, I would gladly combine the two and lie down next to Edward. I could tell him thank you, only thank you, and not even ask him any questions about how he did it. And he could put his arms around me again. And I would gladly fall asleep and never wake up. It's full night, now, and I wonder how long can I really stay here? Why did they bring me here anyway, instead of back to my dad's house?

Because no one was home at my dad's house. And our bathroom is small.

And maybe that's how I find myself warm and dry and fed and content, and not anywhere near as tired as I'd just thought I was, ensconced shoulder to shoulder with Alice on the fluffy rug in the middle of the great room, with our Trigonometry books in front of us. Emmett and Jasper have graduated from the video game to three-dimensional chess. Rosalie, still curled on the couch next to Emmett, has graduated to frowning hard in concentration as she works on a very complicated puzzle of iron rings and hooks and figure eights. I wonder that no one seems to have homework except for Alice and me. But Doctor Cullen and his wife don't seem concerned. They've drifted off to do whatever grown-ups do in the evening after the day has been settled.

The room is still and peaceful. Rosalie's puzzle makes soft clinks. Alice's and my pencils scratch on our papers. I feel her cool presence, just barely brushing against the fabric of my sleeve. Jasper and Emmett murmur to each other, "Check," and, "Au contraire, mon frère." There must be some kind of incense somewhere, or maybe it's the flowers in the gardens, because the house is filled with subtle lovely scent. Outside the windows, rain drips, and the sound captures me once more. This house is so beautiful it makes even the rain feel romantic.

I hear a new sound, and I realize that Edward has come into the room. I don't want to look at him. I'm afraid to look at him. What will happen if I look at him? I bury my face in Trigonometry, in this midnight blue dress, with my hair all done up pretty at the back of my neck. I hear him sit down at the piano.

And he begins to play.

I don't know the pieces by name, only that they are slow and gentle and classical and a little sad. Alice whispers to me the names of the composers: European Romantics – Chopin, Liszt, Debussy. He plays like the rain, like the trickling stream, like nature, with no effort at all.

I still don't dare to look, and only listen as he pauses, and then begins a new piece. It's different, and I know I've never heard it before. Ever. The notes are clear and tender and yearning. I can't do homework any more. Even his brothers and sisters have stopped breathing. The melody soars and dips, like a dark bird over water. It winds through my heart like an unfinished dream. I have to ask Alice, in the softest whisper I can make,

"Did he write this?"

"Yes."

It's so beautiful I think I'm going to die. I lay my head down on my outstretched arm, and just listen until it's done.

- Aversubtlegift, you are simply the best. Thank you.

Dear readers, I'm behind on replies. Promise to catch up, now that the chapter is written.

P.S. This is what Bella heard in the Cullens' back garden: youtube dot com / watch?v=qKq2OGG7m68