Rating M

Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.
I just like to make her characters do unspeakable things.

Much love and thanks to my favorite girls
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,
and my beta love, Carrie ZM.
So grateful for you three everyday.

Present Day

"September 10, 1998. A typical Thursday," Aro begins when the show returns from commercial break while a montage of footage from my alma mater's Founder's Day parade plays in slow motion. "Students and faculty at Middlebury College were busy preparing for the month-long celebration of the school's founding, unaware of what was to come."

A tight shot of Middlebury's old police chief, Waylon Forge, appears on the screen. Withered with worry and age, it's clear the last twenty years haven't been kind to him. "About seven in the morning, we received a call from Lauren Mallory who was concerned about her roommate Bree Tanner."

The dramatic piano keys start up again, along with a home video of a young, carefree Bree, smiling up at the camera and pushing back her long dark hair over her shoulders before blowing out candles on her nineteenth birthday.

"When Lauren called, it had been about 36 hours since Bree was last heard from?" Aro probes.

Chief Forge nods. "She left a note on the whiteboard on her dorm room door." A picture of said whiteboard pops up with Bree's bubbly handwriting and an evidence tag. At the library, it reads with a hastily drawn heart and a 'B' beneath it. "I immediately placed James Hunter on the case."

Detective Hunter makes his first appearance on the show, looking worn down by time, but not nearly as much as the chief. His blonde hair is receding in the front, but his ponytail is hanging on for dear life in the back.

"I headed over to her dorm and spoke with her roommate upon receiving the call. Nothing seemed amiss, so I contacted her family and all known friends and associates."

The piano keys soft notes quicken to a chilling trill as Aro's voice sounds over a picture of Banner's General Store. "Little did they know that several hours later, the killer would deliver their first lead."

September 10th, 1998

"Hey you," I say, rounding the corner of the photo counter.

Leah's there, fixing her zig-zag part and checking her make-up in her compact. "You missed it, Swan," she tells me, tapping the toe of her chunky Steve Madden's on the ugly linoleum floor. "The cutest guy dropped off film earlier."

"How cute?" I ask, pulling on my Banner's General smock and buttoning it up.

"Like … Dawson cute."

"Dawson is gross."

She rolls her eyes and snaps the compact shut. "Fine. Like DiCaprio cute."

I grab a couple of envelopes from the drop box. "There's no such thing."

Tossing her compact in her mini purse, she blows me a kiss. "I'm going on my break." She flounces away leaving a scented trail of Juniper Breeze body spray in her wake.

I scan a few envelopes and pop the canisters of film into the mini lab before flipping through the pages of the latest Cosmopolitan Leah has stashed in the bottom drawer. Chewing my gum, I'm just about to dive into this month's "Ecstasy Essential Tips Sure to Rock His World' when I hear a throat clear. I glance up from my magazine and lock eyes with the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen.

Definitely hotter than Dawson.

"Uh hey," he says, nervously stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Here to pick up some photos?"

He gives me an easy smile. "I am."

His voice is deep and rich and something about the way he's looking at me makes my cheeks heat.

"Name?"

"Edward Cullen."

Move over DiCaprio.

I thumb through the completed orders. When I don't see them there, I check the in-progress envelopes.

"They're coming out right now. It'll be just a few minutes."

I step over to the lab to cut the photos. My eyes go wide at the images. Curly red hair, blue eyes, and a perfect set of double D's stare back at me. Picture after picture, it's more of the same. Creamy skin on silky sheets, sultry smiles, and seductive poses.

Of course, he's taken.

Once the prints are cut, I glance back at him and I'm surprised to see he looks more amused than embarrassed when he places his index finger over his lips and gives me a wink.

"Sir, I'm afraid we're unable to process this content," I tell him sternly.

His smile fades.

"Perhaps you should take it to the Flash Photo across town. I'm sure Jasper, the owner, would be happy to develop this material and maybe make a set for himself."

I wink back at him so he knows I'm kidding, to which he laughs.

"Normally, I'd use the dark room at the school, but I think it might be frowned upon. Can't it be our little secret?"

"I don't know," I tease, stuffing the negatives into the envelope. "It'll cost ya."

"How much?"

I seal the envelope and slide it over to him. "Seven dollars and sixty-three cents."

"How about dinner?"

"Wow."

He hands me his money. "What?"

"Dude, I just processed naked pictures of your girl and you're asking me to dinner?"

His laughter is loud and kind-of adorable. "She's not my girl." He nods towards the envelope. "That was a job."

"Taking nudes is your job?"

"No. I'm studying photography."

"Interesting subject matter."

"She's submitting them to Playboy, but couldn't afford head shots." He shrugs. "We were going for tasteful."

"Ah, I see." I ring up the photos and grab his change. "The silk sheets were a nice touch then."

"Her idea."

"Well good luck to her," I say, holding out the coins for him to take.

His fingers brush mine as he takes his change. "So … dinner?"

"You don't even know my name."

"Sure, I do." He glances down at my nametag. "You're Bella." He stuffs the money in his pocket and extends his hand which I gladly take. "But just to make it official, I'm Edward."

His grip is firm, and his skin is soft. "Nice to meet you."

"So, what do you say?"

"I don't think I'm your type."

He laughs. "And what's my type?"

I dip my head towards the envelope. "Playmate centerfolds?"

He shakes his head. "Definitely not."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he leans over the counter and lowers his voice. "I've got a real thing for beautiful brunettes."

"I'm sure you do," I tease, pulling my hand back.

"But …"

I mimic his position on the counter. "I don't even know you."

"I'm an open book." He widens his arms. "Ask me anything."

His green eyes are fixed to mine. Intense and warm. I have to look away, busying myself with straightening the nearby display of batteries on the counter. "Cullen?" I repeat his last name. "As in the new Dean of Students, Cullen?"

"That's my dad." The corner of his mouth turns up and he tilts his head, almost embarrassed. "Try not to hold it against me, all right?"

"Why would I?"

Shrugging a shoulder, he looks away and stuffs a hand back into his loose fit jeans. My eyes wander from his jeans up his forearm to his chest. Muscular, but not 'roid rage big. His button down is slightly wrinkled, but just enough that he looks like he's not trying that hard. Casually messy like his hair that somehow looks like a disaster on purpose.

I dig it.

"What year are you?"

"A junior. You?"

"I'm a freshman." The word comes out whispered, like it's dirty or something.

He gums his lips and tries not to smile. "What's your major?"

"English with an emphasis on writing."

He grins.

"What?" I ask with a raised brow. "You've got a thing for writing majors too?"

"Nah," he says with a laugh.

"Freshmen?" I hedge.

His voice lowers when he leans in. "Maybe just one in particular."

I hum, unable to form words at his closeness.

"What about you? What's your type?"

I tip my head toward an elderly gentleman comparing hemorrhoid creams across the aisle near the pharmacy.

"Ahh," he says with a chuckle, "I see you like 'em a little more seasoned."

"I do."

"Well lucky for you, I'm almost a senior."

My manager clears his throat from a nearby endcap, so I tear the receipt off the register and jot down my number before sliding it over to him. "Talk soon?"

He holds up the paper and slips it into his pocket. "Definitely."

Edward is barely out of earshot when Mr. Newton scolds me. "Less chatting and more developing, Ms. Swan."

I salute him and grab some orders from the overnight drop box.

"Did I miss him?" Leah asks, buzzing into the photo area a few minutes later with her lips freshly lined.

"You did," I say, dropping the film into the machine.

"Well?"

"Super cute."

"Told you."

I keep the fact that he picked up nudes and got my number to myself, just in case he doesn't call.

I'm so distracted by thoughts of him that I realize I've messed up. "Shit!"

"What?" Leah asks, tossing her bag under the counter.

"I put the film in and went to scan the envelope, but it's blank."

"Weird."

"It is." I huff. "Newton is going to write me up, for sure."

"It's fine." She waves a hand. "Once you see the customer at pick-up, you'll know who it belongs to."

"You're right."

She reads her magazine while I process a few more orders. The unknown customer's prints roll through the dryer quickly, just long enough to catch a glimpse. But a glimpse is all I need to recognize what I'm seeing.

"Oh my God," I whisper at the sight of the dead girl staring back at me, print after print. My fingers tremble as I cut the 4x6 photos. Eyes wide open. Lifeless. Wet. Clothed only in a floral print mini dress, soaked with water and blood near a grassy bank. "Leah."

"What?"

"Call the cops."

A/N: Nineties kids - raise your hand if you ever had your camera taken at a party and when you took your film to get developed you got a disapproving scowl from the photo technician. *raises hand and looks around* No one? Just me? I'm the only one whose friends took dick pics with my disposable camera while I wasn't looking? Cool, cool, cool.

Anyway, so happy to see so many familiar names in my inbox. It was the best kind of reunion!

I was a total slacker this week, so here are some Let it WIP reader recs. If you're not already, check out Little Lovebird by assilem33 and Love 2.0 by cupcakeriot.

Sound off, fandom - what fic(s) would you give anything to see updated?

Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic. See you next Thursday!