A/N: Hello, hello! Here is chapter 8 for you!

As always, thank you so, so, so much for all the love and support! I love hearing your all's thoughts/opinions/theories!

Btw, Edward isn't in this chapter as much as he normally is. I promise to make up for it in the next chapter, though! ;)

Enjoy!

Mom doesn't ask me about it when I call her from the car dealership and tell her to come pick me up, but I'm sure my face says enough. When she gets there, I simply tell her I didn't find anything I liked, and we drive home in complete silence. After that I grab a bunch of snacks from the pantry in the kitchen and lock myself in my bedroom for the rest of the day.

I'm sure my mom and Alex probably think that Edward and I got into some huge lover's spat, or something, but I don't care. I don't want to talk about Edweird with them. It's not like they'll listen or believe me if I tell them the truth. No. I'll just be poor, little naïve Bella, nervous because a boy actually likes her for once.

When The J's call me later in the evening, I can't stop thinking about what Edward said, so when Jake finally gets hold of the phone, I ask him if it's true.

Well, sort of.

"Hey, Jake, is my video game collection lame?"

Jake's answer comes so easily it startles me. "Of course. Why?"

"No. For real."

"Yeah. For real, Swan, it's pretty lame. You don't even have Call of Duty or anything.'

"So, then, you don't like Skateboard Pro 2000?"

"Ugh, it's the worst. I wish I could punk that stupid sport for existing and forcing us all to be subject to such lameness."

I grip the phone receiver so tight in my hand I half expect it to crumble to pieces. Just because Jake hates Skateboard Pro 2000 doesn't mean that Edward is right. It just means I need to expand my Xbox horizons.

"If my game collection sucks so bad, why do you always insist on hanging out at my house?"

"Hey guys!" Jake calls out. "Bella wants to know why we hang out at her house so much."

It's quiet for a second, and then Josh and Jared sing out in unison, "Alex!"

"My sister?"

"Duh," Jake says. "She may be wretched, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind catching her getting outta the shower one of these days."

"You're nasty," I tease, but I feel much better. Clearly, Edward is wrong about The J's. And if he's wrong about them, then maybe that means he's wrong about the murders, too.

"Anyway, we gotta go," Jake says. "Wish you could be here, Swan. You'd seriously love it."

"Yeah!" Jared yells in the background. "We're gonna have to figure out a way to make you grow a pair by next summer!"

Well. They may be a bunch of tools, but at least they're consistent and I know what to expect.

That teensy bit of normalcy makes me relax a little, but I still keep a close eye on the house across the street. Edward's car is still gone. He waited around at the dealership, sulking until my mom got there, but he didn't follow us home and hasn't come back yet.

When Edward isn't home by midnight, I start to feel bad. I haven't been exactly nice to him, and he's obviously upset about it. I end up waiting all night—I can't even sleep. I even quit peeking out of the window after a while and actually climb out onto the roof, needing some air.

It isn't until around 4:30 AM that a pair of headlights come shining down the street. I dive back into my room, making haste to shut off my TV and covering my alarm clock so that my room is pitch black. I watch Edward climb out of his stupid, fancy car from behind the tiniest crack in my window shade. He seems exactly the same as he always does as he goes inside. The light turns on in his room for a few minutes, and then it goes back off.

Nothing to see. No strange behavior.

And now that he's home, I realize it's nearly dawn, and I'm able to finally pass out.

"Bella, you're still alive, right?"

I wake up to the sound of Alex's voice, which is always unpleasant, but it isn't an antagonistic as it normally is. I groan something that sounds close to, "go away!"

"No can do, little sis. Mom told me not to bother you, but if you stay in your room much longer she's going to come in here, and trust me—you don't want her to. She keeps using the word puberty."

I grumble something completely unintelligible this time.

"If it helps, I brought breakfast—double-fudge chunk."

I sit up, and Alex climbs onto my bed, holding two pints of ice scream and two spoons. When I try to take one from her, she pulls it back. "This doesn't come without a price," she says. "You're going to tell me exactly what happened yesterday."

I roll my eyes and snatch the ice cream from my sister's hands. She sighs, takes a bite out of her own pint, and then asks, "Seriously, Bella, what went wrong? Because Edward likes you. I mean he really, really likes you. He's come over three times today asking for you. He even brought you new roses because you forgot to put the ones he gave you yesterday in water, and they wilted. Look, see?" Alex points to the bouquet on my dresser. "These ones came already in a vase."

"He's come over three times? What time is it?"

"Almost one. I tried to ask him what happened, but he wouldn't tell me. Bella, he looked really upset."

"Upset-angry?" I ask.

"More like upset-frustrated," Alex answers thoughtfully, shrugging. "I don't think Edward gets angry."

"Ha! Alex, you don't understand. He's not the same around you as he is around me. He has problems. He's seriously crazy! The way he looks at me, and touches me all the time..." I feel my face heat up. The blushing is definitely not going to help my case any. "It's like he's restraining himself from hog-tying me and dragging me out to the woods."

"Come on, Bella; that's a little harsh, don't you think? He's just being a guy. You've just never had a guy interested in you before."

"No, that's not it! Listen, when we were at the car dealership, he started talking about those girls. But, he wasn't just talking about them—it was like he was...obsessed with them. Like he understood what happened, because his brain works the same way."

"What girls?"

"Those two girls that died. The ones Mom was talking about with Esme at dinner."

"Oh, them. Actually, it's three girls now. And they're saying it's definitely a serial killer."

"W—What?"

"It's been all over the news today," Alex says.

As I turn on my TV, Alex frowns. "Wait. Are you saying that Edward's brain works like a fifteen-year-old girl's?" she asks.

"No, I'm saying he thinks like a serial killer."

I hold my breath when I turn to CNN and see that Detroit's new serial killer has made national news. Sixteen-year-old Olivia Harvell from South Lyon was found in a park this morning, raped, beaten, and stabbed forty-one times.

"At least she doesn't look quite as much like you." Alex's voice startles me so badly that I jump. "Did you see that last girl? She could have been your twin."

"Thank you, Alex. Because that makes me feel so much better!" I mute the TV, but I can't take my eyes off of the screen. "So, they ruled them all serial killings?"

"They had to. The killer left Polaroids of the first two girls with the newest body."

Alex doesn't notice the gasp that escapes me. She keeps talking.

"Mom was watching the news this morning, and they had some expert profiler from the FBI on. He said the killer is claiming his victims."

"He said that would happen," I whisper as dread feels me, settling into my bones. "Alex, he knew!"

"What are you talking about?" she asks, finally turning her attention back to me.

"Edward! He knew! Yesterday he told me another girl would die, and not just eventually. He said someone would die last night. Promised me, even!"

"Well, that's not such a big deal. I mean, the others died on the previous two Saturday nights. That's why they've nicknamed the killer the Saturday Night Slasher."

"He also told me the killer would leave a message so that they'd have to connect the killings."

"Huh... Well, that was kind of a lucky guess."

"It wasn't a guess, Alex," I deadpan.

"How could it not be a guess?"

My mind is reeling, with a million different thoughts. That sick feeling I had in my stomach the day before is back. So much so that I have to put down my ice cream. "I don't know, but he knew. I swear to you, Edward knew."

Alex stares at me as if I'm the one who's crazy, and then she bursts into laughter. "Do you realize what you're saying?"

What exactly am I saying?

"Bella, you just accused Edward of killing three girls—of being a serial killer!"

Alex starts laughing again, and I try to laugh with her, but I can't. When she sees the look on my face, she gets herself under control. "You can't be serious," she says. "A serial killer? Do you really think that Edward, the hottie seventeen-year-old boy across the street who's bringing you roses, could actually kill someone?"

I have to think about it. Do I think that? Do I really believe Edward could do it? I find myself nodding my head.

Alex rolls her eyes. "Okay, I get that he freaked you out a little yesterday, but now you're the one who's being crazy. So he's a little forward—which, I'll be honest, I would love if he came on to me like that—but that doesn't make him a psycho."

Alex is calling me crazy, but the more I think about it, the easier it is to believe. "Think about it," I say. "The murders started right after Edward moved to Michigan. And you say he really likes me, right? All the dead girls look just like me! Plus, the killer's obsessed with stabbing his victims, and there's no question Edward knows how to handle a knife."

"So you say."

"I know what I saw! And yesterday he was talking about knowing all the vulnerable spots on the human body in order to be able to stab them as many times as possible before they died. His aunt said he knows first aid and stuff. And you know how strong he is."

"Getting good grades in biology and knowing self-defense isn't a crime."

"He attacked me in the street the other day!"

"He attacked you?"

"Yes! Attacked me! Just to scare me. Just to show me that he could."

Alex is clearly not being convinced. "He's smart. Like, really smart. He knows things about me that he shouldn't, he breaks into my room, he—"

"He broke into your room?"

"More than once. Look at what he did to my video game."

I turned on Skateboard Pro 2000, but it doesn't have the desired affect. Alex reads the high score list and squeals. "Oh, my gosh, Bella, that is so sweet! Didn't you just die when you saw this?"

"But how did he do it? And when? It's not like I invited him over. Plus, he never came home last night. I know, because I sat up all night waiting for him."

That makes Alex pause. "Stalk much, Bella?" she says with a smirk.

"I'm serious!"

"I can see that." Alex finally loses her patience with me. "You are such a freak. Remind me never to have girl talk with you again."

"No one asked you to in the first place!"

Alex starts to leave and stops at my door to glare at me. "Edward is sweet, funny, romantic, and completely gorgeous. And for some insane reason, he likes you. You are an idiot! I am not going to let you screw this up because you're a freaking prude."

"Bite me," is my brilliant comeback.

"Whatever. I'm going to talk to Edward," Alex grumbles.

"I hope he leaves your mutilated body in a park!" I call after her.

I eventually come out of my room, but I just hang around the house. No way am I going to go outside and risk seeing Edward. For some reason, it's a relief when my dad comes home. We spend the evening watching any channel on TV that doesn't have the news on, and we talk about what other types of cars I might like. He doesn't ask about Edward, either, but unlike my mother, he doesn't seem to care much about it, and that's nice.

When I go up to bed, I find a note on my pillow along with one of the flowers pulled from the vase on my dresser. In strong handwriting, it reads:

What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The note isn't signed, but I know it's from Edward. I try to tell myself that he gave it to Alex to give to me, but Alex would've handed it to me, watch me read it, and then make a huge fuss over it. No way would she have been able to just place it on my pillow for me to find later, even if Edward gave her those exact instructions.

I go to my window, sigh when I find it locked, and then turn my attention back to the note. I know what the saying means, but I'm not exactly sure what Edward is trying to tell me with it. Is he telling me to look inside him? Because when I do that, all I see is a possibly homicidal maniac.

Or does the "us" mean him and me? What lies behind us being yesterday, and what lies ahead of us being… I shudder to think. Either way, there is definitely nothing lying within us, or between us, or around us, or anywhere—because there is no us.

I want to crumple up the note and throw it away, but I can't. There's just something about it, like there's something about the vase of roses on my dresser that I can't dump bleach on no matter how many times I've thought about doing so.

I take the rose off my pillow and put it back with the others after taking in a long drag of its scent. Then I tape the note to the mirror on my dresser and try not to think about it as I go to sleep.

My dreams throughout the night are the worst they've been all summer.

After everything with Edward, and the serial killer stuff, and the dreams, I have an unhealthy amount of tension built up inside me. So I may be acting a little crazy when 7 AM comes around. I go barging into my sister's room and begin rummaging through her drawers. I'm not exactly being graceful, and neither is Alex, with the mouthful she gives me when I wake her up. "Sorry," I grumble. "But there's a pick-up game in the park at 7:30. I want to get there before they pick teams."

"And that would require ransacking my dresser because…?"

"Because when I played Frisbee football at the party the other night, it was a million times easer to move around in your tank top and shorts than in baggy jeans and a jersey. Not to mention, I got elbowed in the boobs way less."

"Sure," she agrees with a snort. "That's because the Neanderthals you always play with finally realized you had boobs to watch out for."

"Are you going to help me find something to wear or not?" I snap, throwing a pile of clothes on the floor.

"All right. Geez. Do you mind?"

Alex acts like it's a huge ordeal to get out of bed, but I notice her smile as she slides her closet door open. "You have a sports bra, yes?"

"Of course."

"Then here." Alex throws me a white tank top. "Wear that over it, and take the pink Adidas pants. Second drawer, left-hand side. You'll have to wear them low on your hips 'cause your legs are longer than mine, but they have a drawstring. Get one drop of blood on them, and you're buying me new ones."

"Whatever."

Alex sighs and finally cracks a grin. "I work from ten to four today." Alex works at Old Navy. "Come see me, and I'll help you pick some stuff out. I'll even get you my employee discount."

"Maybe, if I had a way to get there," I grumble, still peeved that she ditched me Saturday.

"I'm sure Edward would be more than happy to give you a ride."

"A ride to hell on the Saturday Night Slasher Express," I mutter as I leave.

"It's not even Saturday, freak!" she yells, after I slam her door.

"She shoots, she scores!" Mike hollers, slapping me a high five. "And that's game, losers!"

It feels really, really good to let go all of the tension, anger, and frustration inside me, and as a result, I kill on the court this morning. Sure, when I showed up in Alex's workout clothes, the guys gave me crap about not being able to play now that I'm a "girl," but we've been out here for three hours and I've not been on the losing team once.

My theory is right about Alex's clothes, too. I'm much cooler, much more comfortable, and my chest has only been assaulted once this morning. When I got hit, they even stopped the game for a minute to make sure I was okay. I didn't need that, but I definitely need to take Alex up on her offer to help me shop.

I crash onto a bench, rip off my helmet, and wipe at the sweat on my face while I catch my breath. As I drain a bottle of water, this guy Greg that I just scored the winning goal on falls down beside me. "You may look like a chick now, Swan, but you've still got game."

"Of course I do," I tease, "and if you weren't so easy to score on, I might actually get to use it sometimes. This was barely a workout."

Greg's grin grows as wide as his face. "Girl, if you were looking to score, all you had to do was say so. You have no idea how easy I can be."

I groan for the hundredth time today—the innuendos has been nonstop. I punch Greg in the arm and holler, not just to Greg, but to everyone present, "Am I really going to have to hear this shit every time we play from now on? You're like a bunch of wild dogs!"

Among the laughter, someone shouts, "A bullmastiff, baby! Or a pit bull!"

"You wish, Sanchez!" someone else says.

Another guy chimes in, "More like a Chihuahua!"

I groan again, and a shadow falls over me. I look up to see Mike smiling down at me. "Admit it, Swan. You like playing with us better than The J's."

"Never!" I laugh. "You just like me playing with you guys better, because it means you get to win occasionally."

"You talk a lot of smack for someone wearing a ponytail," Mike says, offering me a hand up. "You and me, one-on-one sometime. We'll see who leaves crying."

"You're on." As I gather my things, I notice a familiar tall, lean figure propped against a shiny BMW near the edge of the park. When he catches my attention, he holds up his index finger and motions for me to come to him. Yeah, right.

I quickly glance away, but I know the minute I'm alone Edward will come after me, so I do something I've never done in my life before.

"Hey, Mike, you heading home?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

I shoot Mike a confident smile much more than I actually feel. "You mind taking the long way? Walk a girl home?"

"Uh…" Mike looks confused and very surprised, but at least he doesn't look disgusted. "Yeah," he says a little uncertainly. "Sure."

We head across the park together in the direction of my house. And I do everything I can not to look behind me where I knew Edward is probably still watching, completely furious.

"Thanks," I say in order to break the awkward silence that has settled between us.

"No problem. What's up?"

"It's stupid, really." I laugh nervously. "You know that whole serial-killer-on-the-loose thing?"

"Yeah, I heard about that." Mike glances at me curiously. "It got you spooked?"

"Something like that. I sort of fit the profile of all the dead girls, you know? My dad's going a bit crazy over it. He made me promise I wouldn't go anywhere alone. I'm also pretty sure I'm grounded every Saturday night until the guy's caught."

"I guess your dad's never seen your right hook."

I smile at that. At least somebody thinks I can handle myself. "Could be worse, I guess," I say, shrugging. "He could have locked me in my room and nailed the windows shut."

Mike chuckles and then completely changes the subject. "So…who was that guy you were with at the diner the other day?"

I snort and shake my head. Guys.

"What?" Mike asks defensively.

"Nothing. That's just the exact same thing he asked me about you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Just as soon as we sat down. He thought you and I looked 'chummy.'" I gesture quotation marks with my fingers.

Mike seems amused by this, but he doesn't say so. Instead, he repeats his question. "So, who is he? I didn't realize you were seeing anybody."

"His name is Edward Masen," I explain as my face turns devastatingly red. "He moved into the house across the street from mine. And, uh, yeah, I'm definitely not seeing him."

"You sure? Because it kind of looked like you two were…chummy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Mike bursts into laughter. "Chill, Swan. I'm just messin' with you."

"You and everyone else, for the last freaking week."

"Can you really blame people?"

"It's not like you guys haven't ever seen a girl before."

"Come on, you know you're different. It's got people talking."

"Different?" I ask, startled. "I'm not different."

Mike looks me up and down with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm still the same person," I insist. "It just happens that this"—I gesture to my outfit—"is surprisingly comfortable and a lot easier to play in."

"Sure," Mike says, suppressing a laugh. "But it's more than just the clothes. I don't think I've ever seen you without at least one of The J's present. You're branching out."

"Pure necessity. The J's are at camp. You try spending a whole summer with nothing but an Xbox and my sister to keep you company."

"Actually," Mike says, considering the possibility, "I wouldn't mind—"

"Ugh. Spare me the Alex swoonage, okay?"

"Fair enough. But still. Going to parties…"

"Long story."

"Dating…"

"I told you, I am not dating—"

"Flirting with guys so that they'll escort you home…"

My jaw just about fell off my face, it dropped so fast. "I didn't—that was not…" My voice trails off. I don't have a clue how to finish my sentence. I glance around frantically and am relieved to see we're almost to my house.

Mike bursts out laughing, and I punch his arm hard enough that he nearly trips on his skates.

"Would you cut that out?" I yell. "The whole messing-with-Bella thing is really outwearing its welcome."

Mike continues to laugh until we reach my driveway. "Hey." He stops and pulls his hands up in defeat. "I never said 'different' was a bad thing. Whatever your deal is right now, it suits you."

Oh man, I'm going to blush again, I can feel it. How embarrassing.

Mike punches me back then, more playfully than I hit him, but still hard enough to nearly knock me over. "Just don't go getting all soft with your game," he says. "No one's going to show you any mercy just 'cause you went and got a little hot."

This time I just roll my eyes. "You can leave now." I point to my house. "You are no longer of any use to me."

"Later," Mike says. But as he turns to leave, he notices Edward working over the punching bag in his garage and stops to watch him for a second.

I'm surprised I didn't notice the Beemer I've been running from parked out front when we skated up the street. And I definitely don't like the fact that every time I ignore Edward he feels the need to beat something.

Mike eyes Edward for a minute longer, then turns back to me more serious than he's been all morning. "Be careful with that guy," he says. I can't hide how surprised I am by Mike's warning. "I saw him at X-treme on Saturday night. Let's just say he's not shy with the ladies."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," I say dryly.

So, he got mad at me, went to a club, and made out with as many chicks as possible. Not really surprising.

"How'd you get into X-treme, anyway?" I ask. "You're not eighteen."

Mike winks. "I have my ways."

"Fake ID?"

"You should invest in one and come with us sometime. You know, since you're branching out and all. You're tall. You could pass for eighteen."

"Dancing? Are you kidding? I think I'll stick with hockey."

"Well, see you Wednesday morning, then."

"Yeah." Something occurs to me then. "Hey, Mike? Out of curiosity, did any of those girls Edward hooked up with Saturday night happen to be brunette?"

"Yeah, actually." And Alex thinks I'm crazy. What if that brunette was Olivia from South Lyon?

Mike pulls me from my thoughts when he says, "After seeing you at the diner, I assumed he was with you. I almost beat him down when I realized he wasn't." Mike glances behind him again, where Edward is still viciously beating away calories, and mutters, "Kind of glad I didn't."

"A wiser choice than you realize." I laugh. "Thanks for the thought, though, and thanks for bringing me home."

"No problem. See you later, Bella."

For a second, I watch in wonder as Mike skates away. I think that's the first time he's ever called me by my first name. Maybe something is different about me.

"You've been spending way too much time with Alex," I mutter to myself, and then hurry into my house before Edward can stop me.