And we are back! And a day early at that! Had someone ask about a posting schedule and the goal is once a week. Hope you all had a great weekend. Looking forward to your thoughts on the story as we progress along. As always, thank you for reading!


Chapter Three - After

Only twenty minutes to sleep

But you dream of some epiphany

Just one single glimpse of relief

To make some sense of what you've seen

Epiphany

As Bella puts the phone down, the quiet of the shop wraps around her like a warm blanket. It was one of the reasons she was drawn to working at The Quill & Scroll - not the bustle of customers, the tourists that popped in during the summer seasons, but rather for the quiet moments of weekday afternoons. In those moments, even when you feel absolutely alone, the reality is, you never are. There amongst the shelves you are kept company by everyone: Brontes, Austen, Dickens, Conrad, Twain and Hemmingway.

These writers got her through everything. After Jessica's death, after leaving Harvard quietly once investigations had wrapped, she found solace in the books. Books didn't give her sympathetic looks as they passed each other on the street, they didn't have the biting words of reporters digging into conspiracies and plastering their faces all over the world. No, books were safe places, predictable, comforting. From the smell of the paper and the glue of the binding, to the texture of the pages against her fingers, it provided a comfort that she couldn't find anywhere else.

Sitting in the office she can hear the gentle rainfall from the early fall storm against the small window, the grumble of the heating pipes as they begin to work for maybe the first time since February, and the creaking of the floorboards as Sophie walks around on the other side of the office. There is an ingrained longing to go out on the floor and pick up a book, one that she knows by heart, and to take it with her to one of the oversized couches and curl up in it. She could shut out the world, lose herself in the pages and the world just to pull her out of the reality that she finds herself in now.

It's all for nought though. The fact is, she isn't alone. She's also supposed to be working. Tomorrow isn't exactly going to be as quiet as today. There's also the fact that Sophie has started to pick up some of the slack that Bella has left in the wake of her pregnancy. Not big things per say, just extra time on the floor when she has to step out for a doctor's appointment, or in the very early days when she spent more time hugging the toilet than upright. Edward had urged her to stay home, but given the small staff, Bella figured it was better she show face than turn her back on everyone.

Bella sighs, letting her left hand cradle her bump for just a few more precious moments. Her engagement ring and wedding band catch the light and it ground her. Thoughts of Edward always ground her, their connection, though once fraught with whispered accusations, had become her greatest source of happiness. After a moment, she stands and makes her way to the floor.

"Perfect timing!" Sophie grins, "I ordered you that Rooibos tea you like, and Josh just brought them over." She takes one of the paper cups from the carrier and plops it down on the counter next to where Bella stands. A bit of scalding liquid splashes, narrowly missing an errant book. Sophie's eyes meet Bella's and she cocks her head to the side as she observes her.

"Oh, hey…" she starts softly, gazing around to make sure no one could overhear them. "Are you okay? You look odd."

Bella's heart pounds, she can't help but wonder if it's really that obvious. She had once been so great at hiding her emotions, pregnancy had softened her, Edward had softened her.

"I had some weird news. I'm not sure what's going on in my mind really." Bella says slowly, moving her left hand once again to rest on her small bump.

"Not… Bella," Sophie's eyes follow her hand. "You're both okay?"

"No!" Bella replies quickly, trying to force a smile, though she knows it's as stiff as her body. "Nothing like that at all! Just… family stuff."

She wants to kick herself as the words come out of her mouth. Jason Jenks is not family. She doesn't want him or his memory anywhere near her or her family. But it's too late now, the words have already escaped her lips and she can feel her disgust radiating off of herself.

"Do you need to go?" Sophie questions, her eyes going to the small clock next to the till, "It's nearly five, we are closing in an hour. I seriously doubt with the rain that we will have any kind of rush. I can handle anything that comes up."

"No," Bella responds. She shouldn't need to leave. Nothing's changed. Her life hasn't been drastically altered any more than it had been twelve years ago. But at the same time, the thought of standing there, conversing with customers and Sophie while her mind continued to replay that dreadful night and the subsequent years that followed made her stomach churn.

"Bella, go," Sophie insists. "Please, go. I'll explain to Sue if she comes in, but we both know she won't mind. You know for a fact she would send you home herself if she was here."

"Sophie I can't… You've already done so much these last few weeks." Bella replies while Sophie nods and begins to walk, or rather, push, Bella to the office to gather her things.

For a moment, Bella is overcome with gratitude. She can't deny that she finds Sophie, with her endless optimism and perky cheerleader cheerfulness, irritating sometimes, there is something so comforting in her unflappable kindness. She's never known friendship quite like it; her good deeds have never come with any kind of stipulation.

"Thank you so much, I'll return the favour, I promise."

"Bella, no thanks needed," Sophie smiles kindly, touching her arm gently. Bella can see the concern in her eyes beneath the friendly smile and it follows her back to the office while she gathers her things.


The rain had stopped by the time Bella exited the shop. The sun found its way through the clouds just as it was meant to set along the horizon, so much like that first day when she showed up at Harvard. The links to the past suddenly so sickeningly real on a day that should have been nothing out of the ordinary.

As she makes her way down the quiet street to the parking lot where her car is, she stops at the crosswalk. As she waits for the crosswalk to flash, her mind conjures up a vision of Jessica: eighteen and vibrant, her blonde hair blowing in the autumn breeze, a lazy smile on her perfect red lips. The vision feels so real that Bella has to steady herself on the streetlight, the past had never felt so real, so close. It had been years since Jessica had felt so alive in her mind, back when Edward had shown up and Bella felt everything: joy and love for the man she thought she would never see, pain for their shared history, and guilt for the betrayal she still felt knowing that had things been different, that maybe Edward would have been Jessica's husband instead.

A woman rushes past her, blonde and lithe and Bella yearns for her memories to be true - that the woman hurrying down the street would be Jessica–beautiful, vibrant, alive. How would that moment feel? Would she laugh that infectious way she did and pull her into a hug that would nearly suffocate her? Would she walk right past? Slap her? Cry? But Bella doesn't know, and maybe it was all of them, or none of them at all. Jessica always had a way about keeping people on their toes.

As she gets to her car she unlocks it, folding herself behind the wheel. She needs a moment, not yet ready to face the traffic back to her home, her mind still a mess of thoughts that she knows she has to sort out before she faces Edward. But as she opens her closed eyes, head still leaning back against the headrest, she knows that there is nothing waiting for her at home but a dark house, and a laptop that will tempt her to perform google searches she and her therapist agreed would not serve her well.

Her phone feels safe though. Searches always seem less… scary when they come from a six inch screen so she will allow herself one search. She has to make it real. It was the same when she didn't really believe she was pregnant until she and Edward saw the proof on the screen the doctor showed them and heard the quick swooshing of a heartbeat through the speakers.

Slowly she navigates the home screen before clicking on the web browser. Habit nearly had her searching it right away, but the painful memories of the past that would frequently pop up on her phone in varying degrees based on algorithms had reminded her to search in incognito mode. And then she types it in google: Jason Jenks New York Times. Again, she didn't need to put the publication there, but her past had told her that it was for her own protection that she did, an unfiltered search lead to nothing but an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole that she wasn't sure she could handle right now. At least she trusted that the Times would stick to the facts.

And there it is–the top result.

BREAKING: HARVARD COLLEGE CO-ED KILLER JASON JENKS DIES IN PRISON

The shock of the headline makes her feel as though she has fallen through the ice, her lungs closing up while she struggles to breathe. Again, a hand on her belly, on her child, helps her stead herself.

Jason Jenks, better known as the Harvard strangler, has died in prison at the age of 37, prison authorities confirmed today.

Jenks, who was convicted in 2013 of killing college student, and socialite Jessica Stanley, died in the early hours of this morning. A prison spokesperson stated that he suffered a heart attack, and was pronounced dead upon arrival at Newton-Wellesley.

Jenks' lawyer, Laurant LeGrange, said that his client was in the process of preparing a fresh appeal when he died. "He died protesting his innocence," LeGrange told the Times. "This is a huge injustice that his chance of overturning his conviction dies with him."

Her hands drop the phone and she places them on the steering wheel. Bella's world feels off kilter for the first time in many years. She hadn't actively sought out his name, or news of him in so long that she had forgotten how it felt to be confronted with his name, memories of Jessica, and the photos of their close group of friends. Jenks never had more than two photos that accompanied his articles: his old Harvard ID, and either his mug shot where she swore his dead eyes stared right through her as if trying to tell her something, or even more jarring, the photo of him at his trial as she took the stand to testify against him. His eyes had been so focused on her, questioning, mocking. It rocked her stomach.

Then there were the photos of Jessica. Old social media photos of the two of them, Jessica's arm wrapped around her bare shoulder as they toasted to someone off camera, likely Edward, Alice, Emmett or Mike. Others were candid shots of her on vacation with her family. Then there was the photo of her draped over Edward's lap, her arm wrapped around his neck and his hand on her lower back, steadying her, a ghost of a smile on his perfect lips as he looked not at Jessica, nor at the camera, but rather at the person behind the lens. Bella knew this photo well. She had taken it.

Then there were the crime scene photos. Their suite, once a place where they had felt happiest, now tarnished with the evidence of what had transpired. The Stanleys had fought hard to have the photos scrubbed from the internet, however, the rise in true crime podcasting and vlogging made that job nearly impossible, no matter how much money they tossed at it. That was why she had stopped searching for information on Jason Jenks. The algorithm was unforgiving and always managed to show her the memories of her most traumatic day.

Every now and then someone will reach out, manage to track her down and an email will ping her inbox. Are you the Isabella Swan who was involved in the Jessica Stanley murder? I'm writing/podcasting/researching the case and Jason Jenks' appeal. She used to reply with anger, telling the sender they were vultures, making content on the morbid details of the past that did nothing but hurt the innocent people who loved Jessica. But that only added to the fodder, the original sender often twisting her words for their own benefit. So instead, she began to change her response. No. My name is Bella Cullen. I can't help you.

Obviously, that never helped either. Beyond the fact that it felt like a betrayal of Jessica, had anyone known enough about the case that they could track down her email, they knew. They knew who Edward was, and they knew who she was, and having taken Edwards name in marriage it did nothing to obscure the tracks she had once worked tirelessly to hide.

Edward once asked her why she didn't ignore them. After all, that's what he had done. And she knew deep down that he was right. Which is why that's what she does now. She created a folder where they sit, unread, buried at the bottom of her inbox. One day she would delete them, maybe one day in the future, when the memory is nothing but a footnote in her story. That day just hasn't come yet. And even amongst all the good things in her life, her marriage, their baby resting in her belly, she can't help but wonder if that day will ever come. Jessica's memory has never faded. Not even in the slightest.


It's dark when Bella pulls into their driveway. Her body aches, feet swollen, stomach still on the verge of nausea, and she grumbles as she searches her handbag for her house keys. Their porch light is still out, evidence that Edward had forgotten to replace it which does make her laugh lightly as he had been adamant he would get to it over the weekend as he was uneasy with the thought of her being in the dark when she arrives home.

When she does make her way into their front door, she closes and locks it behind her. Then she leans against the solid wood, feeling the silence and the darkness of their empty home. While she needs him and the comfort that his arms provide, she is thankful to be home before Edward. She needs this quiet moment.

Instead of turning the lights on, taking off her shoes, and starting dinner like she should do, she walks straight for their living room and slumps onto their oversized sofa. The couch had been a splurge they really shouldn't have dropped the money on, but Edward had insisted, and his sweet promises of late nights wrapped up in each other had easily swayed her.

She's still there nearly forty minutes later when she hears the quiet engine of Edward's car as he pulls into their drive. His engine stops and a few moments later she hears his key in the lock and a muttering that is likely him cursing himself for not replacing the light over the weekend as he opens the door.

His keys clang onto the entryway table, likely jostling her own and she hears him kick off his shoes with a thud and set his bag down before he flicks the light on.

"Bella?"

He stands in front of her, his eyes quietly observing her, trying to make sense of why she was sitting here, alone in the darkness of their home.

"Bells… Is everything okay?"

Her lip trembles and she can feel her eyes fill with the unshed tears she couldn't cry all afternoon. Her throat closes, and she feels like a lost child, terrified she is in trouble and her parents can't find her. All she can manage is a whispered "No."

Edwards face crumbles and he falls to his knees in front of her. His face is frightened as his hands carefully touch her everywhere: her hands, her hair, her face, and finally her belly.

"It's not… Bella, baby, it's not the baby is it?"

"No!" it comes even quicker than it had when Sophie had asked earlier, and she suddenly realises where his fear had come from just moments earlier. "I'm so sorry, no, no, I promise it's not the baby." The next words she must force out, now certain that he might not even know what had happened today. That his earlier text that afternoon had been just one of his many reassurances of his love for her.

"Edward, it's Jason Jenks. He's dead." She manages to choke out.

Edward is silent. His hands dropped from her stomach and to his sides. She can't read him at that moment. He is always so sure in his emotions, and she can read him almost as well as he reads her, but in this vulnerable moment, he is guarded, his face a mask. He stands shortly after and walks to their front window, leaning against the ledge as he looks out onto the quiet street. The light from their living room casts his reflection against the darkness before him and she can see his pale skin against his copper hair.

She knows this side of him–the mask he puts on when he can't bear to let anyone see him in pain, to be seen hurting. She figured it was a result of his upbringing; a politician father and a lifetime spent in boarding schools which hardened him against showing true vulnerability. Had she not witnessed the sudden change in his face: the fear of their child possibly being in danger to the blankness when she uttered Jason's name, she wouldn't have been convinced he had heard her at all.

"Edward?" she finally says after pulling herself up from the couch to stand behind him. Her hand resting low on his back as she feels the steady in and out of his breath. "Please, say something."

He turns towards her. He lays his left hand against her cheek, and she can feel the cool metal of his wedding band as his thumb softly strokes the curve of her cheek bone. His other hand goes to her hip as if to ground himself to this moment. To her.

"Good."

It's just one word, but it is said with such a finality in his voice that she has never heard from him before.

He presses his lips to her forehead, and she hears him breathe her in and feels a subtle tremble run through his body.

And then, "what do you want for dinner?" he asks.