This was my entry for the Secrets and Lies contest. So many wonderful stories were included in the contest. I am honoured that Validator Cared Cullen chose my story as her favourite. Beachcomberlc worked tirelessly on this tale, going over it with a fine toothed comb and holding my hand. IpsitaC77 fashioned a hauntingly beautiful banner for this story. Congratulations to everyone involved for a fabulous, well-run contest. Thank you for allowing me to participate.

It was Providence.

It was magical.

It was pure fucking luck.

It was a sign for him and he was going to grasp it with both hands and run with it.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel and he wrenched to the left, turned into the spin and let momentum take over.

And so it began.

All his life, things like this had fallen into his lap and he'd worked them to his advantage. The combined DNA of thousands of people led to the stunning good looks that eased his way in life. His beauty had gotten him far, so far he didn't really need to try to work for much anymore; he could skate by just being good-looking. Luck played a big part, but research and planning gave him everything else he had wanted. That, and the fact he was smarter than every other person he had met.

This opportunity was so golden he couldn't resist, despite the voices who would tell him not to. He wouldn't listen to them anymore. He had three days; a week at most, to do whatever he wanted. He had a ready foil, the means, the skill and the determination. After it was all over, he'd make sure to repay. He'd make it up to her, in a way, although it should be noted that the experience itself could be seen as ample payment by many the world over. Really, so many would jump at the chance to work with him and have their experience lauded on screen for the entire world. If anything, she should be paying him. If she survived with her sanity intact, that is.

The scheme was simple and brilliant and of his very own design. No one could have thought of it but him. Post the cabin as a vacation rental and see who books it. Social media searches and trusty Google would show who was worthy. All the others would be rejected or paid off. It only took a couple of weeks for her to fall into his hands. She was perfect. Ripe for the picking. Young enough, just mid-twenties. Brunette with brown eyes, average height and weight. Pretty enough for him to consider, without being extraordinarily beautiful or noticeable. No family to miss her, few friends and no pets. She had recently quit her job to pursue writing full-time. Although she had published a couple of books through an independent publisher, she wasn't well-known outside her niche market, and historical romance writers were a dime a dozen. The world wouldn't miss this one. The tentative contract she had with a renowned publishing house subsidiary would easily be forgotten when she failed to produce. They'd assume she couldn't hack it and gave up, as had many before her.

Like every other day since he'd arrived, it was raining. The rain lent an atmospheric edge to the whole thing.

Setting: Early evening, twilight. A small, rain-slicked airport with scarce illumination in the parking lot. The last plane of the day, the week and the month. Regular air traffic was being diverted for two days for refurbishing and repaving the small airport. It's Friday, almost Halloween night, at the Port Angeles community airport. A devastatingly handsome young man idles in a smaller, dark-colored SUV, a sign on the passenger seat beside him reads, 'I. Swan'. Six passengers leave the airport with bags in their hands. The small group divides and scatters. A lone female pauses to watch the other passengers enter their vehicles and pull out of the tiny lot one-by-one.

After waiting in the darkened car for the last of the red lights to recede, he pulled up next to her. She starts when he slams the car door and smiles at him apologetically when he says her name as if in question. He sees guilt on her face for her momentary fear of him and it's delicious.

He pretended not to notice her glance over at him, knowing how good he looks, even with the disguise. His shoes are two sizes bigger, with a secret built-in lift giving him an extra inch-and-a-half in height. The jeans are distractingly snug and emphasize his already ample package. The teal turtleneck sweater brings out the blue-green of the contacts in his eyes, making them more vivid.

He smiled at her and took her bags, stowing them in the cargo compartment of the vehicle. The thin veneer on his teeth hides the Hollywood-white of his regular, dazzling grin. He turned his head in a manner to show off the fake scar he'd applied to flesh out his character. He's very pleased with his charade. Everything was perfect—except the hair. He wasn't satisfied he'd gotten the hair just right. He may have to shave it off to regain control of it later, but the multi-toned color would do for now. A few hours of work and she'd never recognize him. Tucking her safely into the back seat, he continued his plotting as he drove away.

Ten minutes into the drive, she finally gained the courage to ask his name and try to strike up a conversation. He was surprised; he'd thought it would take longer. She seemed pleased by the simple, classic name he had chosen for this character. 'Edward' was common enough in the past where she dwelt in her writing. A romantic name, could be regal if the situation warranted. An easy enough name to remember. 'Edward Masen' was a good, generic name.

He confirmed, needlessly, the duration of her stay. He had no idea how much writing a girl like her could do in the week between October twenty-ninth and November fourth. However, Halloween Week in the middle of nowhere, staying in a strange cottage may have given her plenty of plot lines and ideas. God knows the week was giving him loads of ideas.

It was fortunate the accident happened when and where it did. He hadn't planned it this way, but years of research made him quick to recover, think, and adapt. In the increasing darkness, the amount of standing water on the road was easily overlooked and he'd taken the curve at too high a speed. It shocked him that she didn't scream or cry as they spun around and around. In fact, other than sucking in a huge breath, she made no noise during the accident. Sure, she was knocked out cold just after they hit the first tree, but he expected her to cry or something. Most girls would cry. He couldn't wait to hear her cries.

As soon as the fog and fear of what had happened cleared from his brain, he began to take stock of the situation. Most important, and the first thing he checked, was his face. There were no cuts, no breaks and no damage to his face that he could tell. The small mirror confirmed this when he lowered the visor. He was pleased the airbags didn't go off, causing telltale burns...well, he couldn't have anything like that. Not to his perfect face.

The rest of his body was fine, bruised and sore, but nothing broken or permanently damaged. For that, he was grateful. Although, he now had to figure out what to do to her in this new scenario. He'd been so looking forward to a protracted sampling of her growing fright to expand on his education. His plan for terrorizing her with sudden power outages and strange noises was out the window as soon as the car began to spin.

After he'd taken his personal stock, he turned to look at her. She looked perfect. She was slumped over to one side, a thick rivulet of blood running down her face. A dusting of crumbled glass from her shattered window covered her lap and twinkled in the feeble moonlight. She looked so weak and innocent. He wondered if she was a virgin and if her flesh would taste different if she was. That comparative information might be necessary later on.

The car had spun around twice before plunging off the road and down into the forest. The first tree hit the rear driver's side, which made the car ricochet into the second, bigger tree. Most of the damage happened on impact and was to the passenger rear quarter, smashing her head into the window. The door was crushed and crumpled, trapping her in her seat. The accident itself was the least of her worries. The man in the front seat was. She just didn't know that yet.

While he waited for her to wake, he planned. First, a phone call and then he'd disengage the phone's battery. He didn't want them to be disturbed. He left instructions as to his whereabouts and when to come get him. He made no mention of the girl, there was no paper trail, no internet history connecting him and the girl; he'd made sure of that. She could be easily discredited if there was a record on her end. He had much more power than her.

He got out of the car, carefully and silently. He reassessed his body for injuries. A few small cuts, nothing that would hamper his goals for his time with her. He stretched out some of the stiffness from his muscles. He'd need as full a range of motion as possible to work in the confined space of the car. The force of the crash had loosened the lock of the trunk, and he was able to get his duffle bag kit without making enough noise to rouse her.

Zip ties, silver duct tape, box cutter and flashlight were all removed from the black gym bag and tucked into the glove compartment for easy access. He took only one of the painkillers, not wanting to be stoned when she came to. He threw back two of the protein bars as he listened to her moan.

Her cries grew louder the closer she got to consciousness. She struggled against the seatbelt and yelped. She managed to get herself sitting upright and pressed a hand to her face. Her eyelids fluttered open as she tried to focus on her hand and the blood there. She blinked and shook her head, then cried out in pain again. It was fascinating to watch. She must have cleared her vision, because she looked at her hand again, or possibly at the blood there and promptly threw up all over the car door. The open window did little to help the smell. Rain trickled in, making her wet, but didn't wash away the stench as fast as he wanted it to.

He was livid at the little bitch. How dare she do that? Now he had to smell that stink for the next few days. He'd make her pay for that.

She moaned. She opened her eyes again and spoke to him.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Nice, she was concerned about him. He liked that. It was now time to play his role.

"Shhhh, there, there. I'm fine, you're fine. We spun out in the rain and hit a tree or two."

"My head hurts."

He smiled; he liked the idea of her in pain. He thought of many other ways he could add to that pain. The delicious discomfort he could cause.

"You were out for a while. What do you remember?" His question was not one of concern, but a harsh interrogative. He wanted the chance to mold her mind to the shape he desired.

"Mmmm. You picked me up at the airport?"

"Your name. What's your name?"

"Bella Swan."

"What's my name? Do you remember?"

"I can't move my foot. I think it's trapped. It hurts."

"Yes, yes–but what's my name?"

"Oh God. It hurts, so much."

"Good. But what's my name, Bella?"

"I don't … I don't ... it hurts." Her cries grew softer as she passed out again. As she slipped into unconsciousness she murmured, "Edward".

"That's good. You'll always remember my name now, bitch."

He napped, charged his phone and played a few games, Sudoku mostly, to keep his brain sharp. He ate more and polished off two bottles of water. He crawled carefully out of the car again and replenished his supplies from the trunk. He hid the food and water in the front seat where she couldn't possibly see it. The way she was pinned inside the car severely limited her range and scope of motion. He was delighted she was so well contained, although he had a fleeting thought of crawling into the back seat and seeing if it would be possible to have enough room for her to ride his meat, if he wanted her to, that is. She wasn't as pretty as his usual girls, not enough breast meat either, but a warm soft hole is a warm soft hole. The packaging doesn't matter that much.

But that was not what he wanted from her. He wouldn't sully himself that way. No, he wanted something else entirely, and he would have it.

She finally woke up. Good thing she did, because he was getting bored, and bad things happened when he was bored.

This time, she was calmer and didn't throw up, two things that raised her in his estimation. She remembered his name, the name he gave her, that is. She'd be beside herself if she knew his real name.

"How long have we been trapped, Edward?"

"About twelve hours or so. It's just past sunup."

"Doesn't anyone know where were are? Are they looking for us?"

"I doubt it. I live alone; it's better that way for me."

"Well, did you call for help when we crashed?"

He lied so smoothly, years of training helping him deceive her.

"I didn't bring my phone; it was such a short trip to come get you I didn't think I needed it."

She groaned and patted the seat beside her for her purse. It hadn't moved during the crash, but he'd rifled through it while she was sleeping. He'd smashed her phone, just in case, and tossed the purse onto the floor behind his seat where he was sure she wouldn't be able to reach it, at least not for the first day, depending on her injuries. He was improvising most of this on the fly. So far, his performance had been Oscar-worthy, even if his audience was a lamb to the slaughter.

"Do you want any water? There's a bit in my carry-on bag, I think." She managed to turn her head enough to look over at the seat beside her. The seat back underneath where her head had been resting was painted with a thick film of blood. Several of her long hairs were stuck there, the rest was plastered to her face. He almost giggled in glee at the sight of the blood. Such a pretty color, much nicer dried than when it was wet. It was more real looking now..

She closed her eyes for a moment before leaning over to reach her bag. Dragging it across the other seat took most of her strength. He could see her fighting nausea and swallowing the pain. She laid her head back and took several deep breaths before unzipping the bag. After rummaging for a moment, she lifted a half-empty bottle of water from the bag. She looked at the level of water before trying to lean forward and pass it to Edward.

Edward reached his hand out and took the water. He wasn't thirsty, but took a big gulp anyway.

"Here you go." He passed it back.

Bella's hands were shaking as she took the bottle. She took a small sip and let it sit in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She waited a few minutes before taking a bigger gulp. She tightened the cap on the bottle and stowed it beside her good leg. She rested her head back again and let her brain sprint from one thought to another.

She felt guilty. This accident may not have been caused by her, but Edward wouldn't have been out driving if it wasn't for having to pick her up. She also felt bad because she had eaten the lunch she had packed for herself on the plane. She only had a couple of granola bars and some mints. She thought about sharing them, but also wanted to keep them for herself. She decided to wait to mention them until later. If they weren't rescued soon, they may need the food at some point. They had to be rescued eventually, didn't they?

Her stomach and chest hurt from the seatbelt. Her head ached, pulsating very badly, but her foot was the worst pain she had ever felt. Even breathing seemed to hurt her foot. It was burning, throbbing with a ripping feeling and she wanted to scream in pain, but she held it in. Screaming wouldn't do anything to help them.

She must have drifted off again, because when she opened her eyes next it was growing darker outside. She looked around as best she could without triggering her headache. Bella caught Edward's eye. There was something about him that wasn't quite right, but Bella couldn't put her finger on what that was. It could be the way he was looking at her or the bad contacts in his eyes that had her on alert, she didn't know, but he made her uneasy. He had sounded just fine when she was arranging to rent the little cottage on his property. She could only afford a week's rental, but a week away from the noise and bustle of the city would be perfect. She was at a pivotal point of her story: Would Lady Alice choose the man her parents wanted for her, the evil Lord James, or would she run away with the kind, but poor soldier, Jasper? Bella had the outline down pat, chapter by chapter. This week away was to be the big push to finish the remaining ten chapters, and to do her first revision. She always liked to go over a story at least once before her editors got their hands on the manuscript. The first twenty chapters had been proofread by a junior editor, and Bella still had the notes to go over.

But now, instead of building a fire and forgetting time while writing, she was pinned inside a car with this slightly disturbing Edward guy.

"How long has it been since the accident? Why haven't they found us?"

"This area isn't well travelled. We were almost at the turnoff to my property when we crashed. Someone should be along soon enough." He refused to look at her while he was lying, flicking his eyes to the left as a tell, so she would know and lose hope.

"Oh damn." He could hear her whisper, and fought his grin in response.

"I'm sure we'll be fine. You're not that badly hurt, are you? Just banged up a little. See, we'll be okay. Someone will come eventually. Don't worry your pretty head."

Bella could tell he was trying to be soothing, but he just came off as creepy to her. She tried to put those feelings aside, chalking them up to unease from the accident and being trapped with a stranger. A few cleansing breaths helped clear her mind.

Edward turned so his back was pressed against the driver's side door and stretched his legs out as best he could, groaning all the while.

"Are you hurt, Edward?"

"Just sore and knocked around, I've had much worse."

"Really?" She asked out of politeness, not because she really cared to know. She would live to regret her kindness; he took the opening and ran with it.

He fixed his green-tinged eyes on her and a nasty smirk came over his face.

"Have you ever smelled your own burning flesh, Bella?"

Her stomach roiled, and she had to swallow back acid as it threatened to spew out of her mouth.

"Did you know, cannibals sometimes refer to people as long pork? People say humans smell the same as pigs as they cook, but I never found that to be true. Maybe it varies from person-to-person. But when my father stubbed his cigarettes out on my skin, I thought I smelled kind of sweet and a little salty, like kettle corn. Or browned butter. So, yeah, I've had worse."

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, Edward."

"Ah, good old Daddy ran off when I was ten. Never heard from him again. Mommy had lots of uncles to introduce to me over the years. Some of them really liked me, some just beat me. But I certainly learned a lot growing up. By the time I was fifteen, I was well-schooled in all sorts of different things."

"You got out though; you got help, right?"

"I helped myself." Edward didn't speak again for an hour. Bella had no idea what to say or if she even wanted him to talk to her again.

He startled her when he finally came out of whatever thoughts were holding him captive. He flipped the sunvisor down and took a pack of matches from a clip there. His hands were shaking as he lit a match and watched as it burned. He pursed his lips and blew out the flame. He did this five more times before he turned his head and looked her in the eye. It was like he knew she was watching his every move. He put the spent ones in the cup holder under the dash.

"Fire calms me down. The smell, the sight and the danger of it."

He smiled at her, a full smile this time, not a smirk. She returned a weak smile of her own.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, Bella. The accident is bringing up some feelings. Long-dead-and-buried feelings."

"I understand." She didn't, but said it anyway to appease him.

She was so easy to talk to, much easier than he'd thought she'd be. He'd expected more screaming and crying, perhaps whimpering like a kicked puppy. He'd given her two huge hints and so far she hadn't taken the bait. Or, she just hadn't put the pieces together yet. He tried another tactic.

"Tell me about yourself. Do you have a man, Bella? A steady beau?"

"Um … no, not right now."

""I had a girl last year. She was delicious. But there were things we didn't agree upon so we had to part ways. . ." He let the sentence trail off.

The way he said it, something about his word choice, his cadence, made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. She wanted to cry. Her foot throbbed. Her head screamed at her, both in pain and to escape. She needed to get out of this car and away from this man.

He lit another match.

"I've got thirteen more to burn." He said out of nowhere. The quiet had been pressing down on them like a heavy blanket.

Bella took another small sip of water. It didn't help. There was another, unopened bottle in her bag. She'd felt it when she was rummaging before. She wanted to ration it, just in case they were trapped for much longer. But she desperately hoped for salvation soon.

"May I?" Edward held his hand out for the bottle. She gave it to him, not wanting to part with it, but preferring to keep him happy. She grimaced when he finished it off. He tossed the empty bottle back at her.

"You might need it if you have to pee." He winked at her.

"Thank you, I guess. I hope we won't be here that long."

"It will take as long as it takes, Bella. I don't want to hear any bitching from you." His tone was harsh and biting. Gone was the slick, nice guy—the friendly landlord. Gone was the slimy creep. Bella found she missed the slimy creep. Him, she could deal with, having done so many times before. Angry men were harder to negotiate. Bella shrank into the seat as best she could, trying to make herself small and less noticeable.

Edward liked this new look on her. He was doing his job well. This was information he could use. He wanted to clap his hands in glee, maybe bounce up and down in his seat; do a little chair dance.

"Say you're sorry. Say it, Bella. Say it, 'I'm sorry I was bitching at you, Edward'. Out loud." He glared at her with menace, inwardly delighted by the look of horror on her face.

She made him the most beautiful apology. One worthy of a writer.

He lit another two matches before turning and kneeling in his seat. He pretended he could only get the door open about six inches. He pushed his seat back as far as it could go and angled his body so he could pee out the open door. He kept one eye on Bella to see if she was interested in catching a peek at his quite impressive cock. Like the prim little bitch she was, she kept her eyes off him, preferring to look out the other window while he relieved himself noisily. He liked the blush that rose across her cheeks.

"Big, isn't it? I'll bet you've never seen one bigger." He laughed as he zipped himself up.

"What?" Bella swung her head around, wincing at the pain in her head and neck, and gaped at him.

"The spruce tree we crashed into. The sitka you were looking at."

"Oh. Yes."

"Why? What did you think I was talking about, Bella? My dick?"

"Oh, no, of course not." Bella stammered her answer.

"That's okay, Bella. Lots of ladies would die to get a glimpse of my dick. You should count yourself lucky."

He laughed at the look on her face. She couldn't look him in the eye. He continued laughing at her until she did. Then, the laughter stopped abruptly.

"Am I not good enough for you? Is that it? You think you're too good for me. My last girl thought she was too good for me. My mother thought she was too good for me. I showed them."

Tears came to Bella's eyes. He was crazy and she was going to die here. He was going to kill her. For the first time, she gave in to her feelings.

Edward was proud of his performance. He watched as she cried herself to sleep. She was quiet about it. Her sobs were almost silent.

She slept for about an hour. He lied and told her she'd been asleep for five hours. He gladly took three-quarters of the granola bar she offered to share with him.

Time was dragging, but he knew he didn't have too much of it to waste. He had to step up his game or the whole thing would be destroyed.

He grabbed the box cutter from the glove compartment and began to pick at the seams of the upholstery of the passenger seat beside him. Her eyes widened with fear when she saw the blade in his hand. She may have thought him odd before, but now, now he was dangerous and odd. It didn't bode well for her. He told her rambling stories about fires, pets that had disappeared from his life, and the johns his mother entertained. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her swallowing convulsively and see her hands shaking as she held them over her mouth.

The sound of tires on gravel forced his storytelling to a halt. He cocked his head to the side and a wicked grin spread across his face.

"And … scene." He murmured.

He threw himself into a flurry of activity. Taking one of the water bottles that was hidden from her view, he quickly downed half the liquid. Making sure she was watching, he took four pills from a baggie in the glove box and dropped them into the remaining water. He shook the bottle until the pills were dissolved.

He opened the car door and found a large rock. Climbing back into the car, he laid the rock on the seat beside Bella. The box cutter and the bottle of water were next to be placed beside her. A rag and a handful of zip ties were next. She was shocked into submission, watching him like a trainwreck, unable to scream or look away.

"Thank you, Bella. You've been much better than I could have hoped for." He complimented her as he removed the fake scar from his cheek.

"I highly doubted your skills, but you've proven to be a wonderful resource for me. However, I'm afraid our time is up." Quicker than she thought possible for a man to move, he had her hands cuffed together and tethered to the seatbelt. He smiled once more, an indulgent condescending smile. He sat back in his reclined seat facing her and took off the mouthpiece that had been covering his teeth, leaving him with a bright white smile where there had been discolored, crooked teeth before. He popped out his contact lenses, turning his green eyes to a brilliant blue.

"Now, you've promised not to tell anyone. I slipped a non-disclosure agreement into the rental contract, just in case, and a virus to make all our correspondence delete, but I'm reminding you verbally now. As much as you will want to tell the world how you spent two days locked in a car with Hollywood heartthrob actor Carlisle Cullen, I'm afraid I can't allow it. While I do thank you for your help with my research into my new role, I need my private life to stay private. I need my method to stay private. My agent tried to tell me I only got this serial killer role because Bradley Cooper turned it down. This is going to be my biggest, best role yet."

He stepped out of the car again, a fresh bottle of water in his hand. He bent at the waist and poured the water over his head. The reddish copper color ran down his face. Picking up a towel, he rubbed his head until a gleam of gold was left.

"Those casting directors owe me big time, now. They said I couldn't do it, called me a washed-up has-been. But now, with this whole method thing you and I did, man, it's Oscar gold for me."

Bella broke into sobs. He climbed back into the car.

"You really bought it, didn't you? You read the clues I fed you and thought I was a serial killer, right? I'm just that good an actor. You feared for your life, didn't you? Answer me!" He screamed at her. She nodded her head, ignoring the pain she was in and the fear in her belly.

"Good girl." He patted her on the head like a puppy. He held the drugged bottle of water to her mouth and forced her to drink it.

"Just think of what this will do for my career, Bella. Aren't you happy to be a part of it? I'll see if I can get you a credit, you know, like research assistant or something like that. Of course I'm going to get top billing. My name above the title where it belongs. I worked damn hard on this research. I should offer acting classes. You'd pay me, right? For the valuable acting classes I could give. You've already had one for free. I guess we'll see if you remember anything after this." He took hold of her chin in a punishing grip and forced the rag in her mouth. He watched as her eyes drifted closed and her breathing evened out.

Carlisle slit the zip ties holding her wrists together, only making a small cut on her left arm. Unfolding himself from the car that had been his stage for the last two days, he felt compelled to take a bow. He bent deeply at the waist three times, then inclined his head so the audience could give some love to his co-star.

He opened the passenger door and fished out her purse. He tucked it beside her carry-on and patted her on the knee.

"As much as you should be the one thanking me for this delightful experience I've given you, I thank you, Bella." He spoke to the unconscious woman, winking at her as he removed the gag and closed the car door. Tomorrow, he might call the Washington State Patrol once he'd returned to Beverly Hills and leave an anonymous tip; he'd have to see if he was up for an encore performance. The roofies should confuse her enough and affect her memory so she'd never be able tell what happened. But as an extra layer of insurance, and to see what it felt like to hurt someone, he struck her on the side of the head with the rock. The pressed shale crumbled in his hand and showered her in slivers of gravel.

Taking the chance to stretch his legs, Carlisle jogged back to the house. About two miles along the three mile driveway, he ran into his assistant.

"Carlisle, where have you been?"

"Just a little exercise. Not really any of your concern, is it?"

"I got your message about bringing up a new car. I brought the red Lexus, I hope that's okay. If you want to give me the keys to the old one, I'll take it back to the city and return it to the studio's carpool." The eager young man held out his hand.

Carlisle, not thinking, threw him the keys. Deciding to just leave and get back to LA., Carlisle waited as his assistant packed his bags and left the boy at the house with vague directions as to the location of the rejected vehicle. Let the flunky clean up his mess as he was paid to do.

A steady beeping woke Bella. Every part of her body hurt and she didn't know why. A nasty, antiseptic smell reached her nose and a sob lodged in her throat. The beeping jumped and got louder, drilling into her ears and adding to the pounding in her head. Light stabbed at her closed eyelids; she could feel it threatening to work its way under her lashes and poke at her brain. She wanted to move, to get away from the pain and throbbing, but she was trapped. Her body wouldn't listen to her brain. So, she gave up and allowed herself to slip under again.

The pain had lessened very slightly when she woke again. The beeping was back to a steady rhythm. The light was gone, but she kept her eyes closed anyway, just in case. A woman spoke to her softly as she touched Bella's hand, face and knee. Her voice was muffled and warbly, like she was speaking underwater. It was as comforting as it was annoying. The voice left and Bella felt alone, truly alone. She tried to open her eyes, but didn't have the strength. She slept instead.

Clear and distinct speech woke her the third time. Bella shifted in the bed and felt her left leg move. The right was still trapped. She felt much less pain than any of the other times she had woken up. She rolled her head from one side to the other. It hurt more on the left side than the right. Something about that seemed wrong to her, but she couldn't decide why.

As she was taking inventory, a different female voice came into the room. Bella opened her eyes, but they were hazy. She couldn't make out any shapes, not the room she was in nor the person in her room.

"You're okay, Miss Swan. There's no lasting damage that we can tell. Do you want more pain meds?"

Bella tried to speak but only a groan came out.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. I'll be back with a nurse and a shot for you. I'm your doctor, Rosalie Hale."

Bella nodded her head and instantly regretted the action.

"There's our VIP patient. See, Dr. Hale, I knew she'd pull through for us. Hi, Miss Swan, I'm Alice. I'm your favorite nurse. Can I call you Bella?"

With a great deal of effort Bella answered, "Yes."

"Great! Dr. Hale here is going to tell you about your injuries and check you out a bit while I get your IV changed and see to some happy drugs for you."

Bella could feel the sides of her mouth lift in a smile.

"Okay, Bella. Do you remember my name?" Bella jumped, remembering the last time someone said that to her, the way he screamed at her. She swallowed back the memory and answered, "Dr. Rosalie Hale."

"Good, good. I was just checking your short-term memory. I think you're going to be fine. Your right foot was badly damaged in the crash and the three days in the car exacerbated the injury. We were able to pin the bones back in place and repair the torn muscle tissue. You have a concussion, bruising on your chest and abdomen, but no internal bleeding. The head of plastic surgery saw to the lacerations on both sides of your scalp. The opthamologist discovered some fine scratches to your corneas that will resolve themselves shortly. We're giving you drops, but your vision will be blurry for a few days. We don't think there will be any lasting effects from the Rohypnol overdose. The police and paramedics noted that when you were extracted from the car, you vomited immediately, which rid your body of some of the drugs. I'll come back in a few hours to check on you, but you're looking as well as can be expected."

The closing of the door was the only sign the doctor had left the room. Bella's head was spinning with too much information.

Alice wiped her face with a warm cloth.

"Shh, it's okay. You've been through hell, I know. It'll get better. You'll see. The police are here, but I can send them away if you want." Bella grabbed Alice's hand and gave it a hard squeeze.

"Alright. I'll tell them to come back later. Don't worry."

The comfort of the medication ran through her veins, taking both her pain and her worry. When she woke again, she felt better, clearer and stronger. Someone had turned the TV on in her room and she let the sounds wash over her without hearing the individual words until two of those words stabbed into her brain.

"Carlisle Cullen." Bella's heart jumped and her breathing stopped for a fraction of a second. She tuned in more carefully to the voice.

"...the former Hollywood actor was arrested yesterday on charges of kidnapping, reckless endangerment and attempted murder. Details are scarce, and sources close to the actor are not speaking to the media. A spokesperson from his management company is due to give a news conference tomorrow afternoon. But what we do know of this strange story is that Cullen's assistant turned him in after the victim was found in the back of Cullen's wrecked SUV. The victim's name is being protected by police. In the meantime, Cullen has posted bail and was immediately put under the care of the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health for assessment. Cullen is best known for his roles in …"

Bella reached for the remote and turned the TV off. She rested her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them again, her vision was a little clearer. She could make out a riot of color at her bedside and the scent of lillies washed over her.

Over the next few days, her vision steadily sharpened and her pain lessened. She spoke at length to several different police departments, Los Angeles County, Washington State and the FBI. She was tired of telling her story, but happy she was able to at the same time. Alice took great care of her and Dr. Hale was content enough with her progress to discharge her. Bella didn't yet know where she was going to go. She wasn't well enough for the long flight home and Alice was researching nearby hotels for her. Bella stared out the window while she waited.

A knock on the door jarred her from her thoughts, but she kept her eyes on the window. Calling out, "Come in," to either Alice or Dr. Hale, Bella continued to watch the soft golden sun play through the trees outside. She finally looked at her visitor when he cleared his throat.

"Miss Swan? I'm here on behalf of the studio."

The man speaking was strikingly handsome, Hollywood-perfect, but there was something unsettling about him. He was tall with vivid green eyes and brown hair with hints of red and gold. Bella just nodded at him.

"The studio has arranged to pay all of your medical bills, both from this stay and any subsequent ones you may have due to the actions of their former employee. They've also arranged a hotel for as long as you need for your recovery, and your flight back to Phoenix whenever you're ready."

Bella nodded again, not trusting her voice. She knew the studio would cover their asses as best they could in hopes she wouldn't sue.

"They've also employed me to help you out until you're fully recovered, both here and once you're home. I'm to take you to appointments, arrange housekeeping, fetch your groceries, or whatever you need."

Bella didn't want his help or the help of the studio. The less she had to deal with them, the better. They were only trying to buy her silence and force her to keep their secrets. She shook her head at him. He interrupted before she could refuse him.

"I would consider it a personal favor, Miss Swan. See, I was the one who found you, called the police and pulled you from the wreckage. I'm the one who turned Carlisle in to the cops. I was his assistant, and I'm glad to be free from him. I'm so sorry he did this to you. It's not right."

Bella held up her hand to stop him from speaking.

"Thank you, but I won't be needing your services …" She let her voice trail off, not knowing the man's name.

He stepped forward and held out his hand. Bella could feel blood rushing to her cheeks; he really was incredibly handsome, more so up close. His eyes were kind and compelling. She could write many novels using his face as inspiration for her heroes.

"Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Edward. Edward Masen."

Bella opened her mouth and screamed.

Thank you for reading. I doubt there will be any more to this story.