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.

Chapter 3

Present Day

The ominous music starts up again. "While police were frantically contacting friends and family of the missing girl," Aro says as a grainy shot of Banner's General Store fades in. "An unsuspecting clerk in the photo department across town was making an unsettling discovery in the disappearance of Bree Tanner."

The 35mm photos I processed that day shoot onto the screen like bullets, zooming in and out at the details just as I remember them. The blood. The outstretched hand. The soaked dress. The lifeless eyes.

"In a strange twist of fate, the clerk who developed the clues that proved this was no longer a missing persons case, would eventually have her own run in with the killer."

They show more footage from my interview a few months ago. "Tell me, Bella." Aro tips his head to the side. "What was going through your mind when you first saw the photos?"

"Confusion at first. I, um …" I suck in a deep breath and meet his gaze. "I didn't want to believe what I was seeing."

"And then?"

"Terror." My eyes get glassy with tears. "Sadness for the girl."

"The then nineteen-year-old Bella reacted quickly, alerting the authorities. But there was just one problem."

"I messed up," I tell Aro. "When I grabbed the envelope out of the overnight drop box, I was distracted and I put the film in before scanning the envelope."

"The envelope," Aro's voice deepens over the unnerving piano music, "as it turns out, was blank, leaving detectives without a clue of who took these disturbing images. The only thing they knew for sure was that the girl in the pictures was in fact, Bree Tanner." The music stops. "And they were no longer on the hunt for a missing person. Middlebury police had a homicide victim on their hands … and a killer in their midst."

September 10, 1998

"I pulled it out of here," I tell Detective Hunter, pointing to the overnight drop box that's accessible from outside the building and also has an indoor slot. "With the order for Ms. Martin."

"Do you remember which one was on top?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't pay attention."

Mr. Newton huffs beside me while Leah gives me a sympathetic look. The detective drops the envelope into an evidence bag, carefully sealing it with his gloved hands before collecting the pictures and slipping them into another bag.

"We'll need for you to come down to the station to give your statement and submit fingerprints so we can exclude you."

"Of course."

He turns to Mr. Newton. "We'll also need access to any and all security cameras in the building and outside. Sales receipts, copies of checks, and a listing of who's ordered photos in the past week."

Mr. Newton looks uneasy. "We don't have any security footage on the outside of the building."

"All right. Do you have any over the photo desk?"

He shakes his head. "We have them in the pharmacy and the register near the cigarettes."

Detective Hunter curses under his breath and stomps over to a couple of officers who are taping off a perimeter before calling me over. "Bella, this is Officer Eleazar. He'll be escorting you over to the station."

I glance back at Leah. "Call Rose, will you? Tell her to meet me at the station."

"I will."

A news crew, a photographer, and a handful of gawkers are standing outside as we exit. I hear the clicks of the camera and the reporter shouting questions about the girl reported missing this morning while we hurry to one of the four waiting squad cars.

"You all right?" the officer asks once we're both inside.

The reporter is near my window, continuing to repeat his questions while the cameramen jockeys for a clear shot. "Not really," I sigh, turning to face him. He's quite a bit younger than the other officers. A thirty-something with dark hair and dark eyes.

"That's understandable." We're quiet for several minutes while we drive through town. It's not until we're near the police station that he speaks again. "Miss Swan, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I probably won't be the one taking your statement, but I will be assisting with the search."

"Okay."

He swallows then glances over at me. "I guess what I want to know is what to expect when we find her. What did you see?"

I stare at the covered bridge over the creek in the distance. "She was face up," my voice trembles, "in a shallow pool of water near a grassy bank. Barefoot in a flowered dress. Her hair was … wet. Plastered on her face."

I look over at him. "Her eyes and mouth were wide open. The pictures were, um … they were taken at different angles, but the blood was …" I shake my head and look down at my hands. "It was everywhere."

He doesn't reply. Instead he grips the steering wheel tightly while staring straight ahead.

Rose is there at the station when I finish giving my statement and answering their questions. Wearing an oversized sweatshirt and pajama pants, she tosses the Time magazine on a nearby seat and makes her way over to me. "Hey," she says warily.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

I shrug. "I just want to go home."

She links her arm with mine and walks me to her car. It almost feels motherly. Makes me miss my folks back in Forks.

"Want a cup of tea?" she asks when we get back to the dorm.

"Sure."

She hits the play button on the answering machine.

"You have one new message," the robotic voice says before beeping.

"Hey Bella, it's Edward … from earlier. Uh listen, I just saw you on the news and I just wanted to make sure you're okay, so…" He nervously rattles off his number, hardly sounding like the confident guy who asked me out while picking up nudes a few hours ago. "So, yeah, just call me if you're up to it. If not, I understand. Talk soon. I mean if you want. Okay. Thanks. Bye."

Rose snickers. "What was that?"

"This guy I met this afternoon … before," I trail off.

"Cute?"

"Very."

She dips a tea bag into a cup of water and pops it into the microwave. "Your type?"

"I don't know if I have a type."

While I've been chatting with Rose on AOL instant messenger for months, we've only been roommates for a few weeks. We're still in that getting to know you phase where we're still finding out what the other is all about.

"What's he like?"

"I don't know much about him other than he's a junior studying photography." I raise a brow. "And he's the dean's kid."

"Ooooh," she teases. "Was he wearing a tweed coat and wire-rimmed glasses?"

"Nope. He was more like Paul-Rudd-in-Clueless-rumpled and was picking up nudes, so … there's that."

"Bella Swan." She grins. "I didn't peg you for liking the bad boys."

The microwave beeps and a few seconds later, she hands me my cup of tea. "Neither did I."

She's quiet for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The hesitant way her question comes out lets me know she's not talking about Edward anymore. I tell her everything. All the things I saw, what I felt, every question the police had for me.

"That's sick," she says, wrapping her arms around herself.

I lean back on my bed. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Do you want to watch Ally McBeal?"

I give her a noncommittal shrug which she takes as a yes. She flips on the television, but I barely make it to the commercial break before falling asleep.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of Rose zipping her backpack.

"What time is it?" I ask, shielding my eyes from the sunlight streaming in.

"Almost noon."

"Shit." I sit up, pressing my palms into my eyes. "I've got class at two."

"I'm sure they'd understand if you, like, needed a day or something."

I push the covers off of me. "Nah."

She has her lunch while I eat some cereal and turn on the television. We watch Judge Judy for a bit before surfing the channels to find The Jerry Springer Show. Instead, I stumble upon a picture of the dead girl. Only this time, she's wide-eyed and smiling at the camera wearing a green cap and gown.

"Authorities have identified the victim in the pictures as Bree Tanner. She was reported missing several hours before an employee at Banner General developed a roll of film which is believed to have photos of the Middlebury freshman."

Footage of a search party is shown. Several cops and volunteers scour the banks of the creek and lake while Detective Hunter's message from this morning's press conference plays. "If anyone has any information with regards to the disappearance of Bree Tanner, please contact the Middlebury Police at 802-388-3191."

Dean Cullen appears on the screen next, speaking to reporters on the steps of the student union. "Bree Tanner was a promising young freshman enrolled in our English program here at Middlebury. The loss of such a young life is devastating to all those who knew her." He looks directly into the camera with his worn, tired blue eyes. The resemblance between him and Edward is strong, apart from the blond hair and eye color. "In troubling times like these, it is important that we continue to support each other. If you're having difficulty, please reach out to friends, classmates, faculty, or advisors."

The newscaster comes back on the screen. "A candlelight vigil will be held at the quad tonight at 8 pm for students and Middlebury residents. This story will continue to be updated." The camera angle switches, and the reporter's voice goes from gloom and doom to cheery in a millisecond. "Summer's nearly over, but it looks like fall will be coming early this year. Stay tuned for our weatherman Sam Uley's forecast after the break."

"Do you want to go?" Rose asks hesitantly.

"I don't want to, but I feel like I should … I don't know. To pay my respects or something." I look over at her. "Is that weird?"

"Not weird at all."

"I'll think about it."

She hefts her bag over her shoulder and grins. "Maybe you should think about calling back your photographer friend, too."

I laugh. "Aren't I supposed to wait two days or something so I don't seem desperate?"

"You've watched Swingers way too many times."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Rolling her eyes, she opens the door. "I'm going to class."

Once she's gone, I listen to his message again and briefly consider calling him back. My dad's words from the day he dropped me off on campus come back to me. Don't let an attraction be a distraction.

It's probably sound advice, but something tells me that Edward Cullen would be the best kind of distraction.

The quad is packed. Students and faculty surround a makeshift memorial with candles in their hands, while the police maintain a respectful distance. A large picture of a smiling Bree is front and center, along with several bouquets of flowers and cards littered around the steps.

Rose and I stand back on the periphery, not wanting to intrude on this moment. We don't escape the notice of a faculty member, who promptly rushes over to give us each a candle and a business card for grief counseling.

"Good evening," a balding, middle-aged man says holding a microphone in one hand, and a lit candle in the other. "My name is Austin Marks. I'm an associate chaplain. We're here tonight to remember and celebrate the life of Bree Tanner."

"As we pass the flame from one another, let us remember that we are not alone in our grief or our tears or memories." Lighting the taper of the person standing next to him, he holds up his candle. "The flame of the candle symbolizes remembrance. Tonight, let it represent the light that Bree brought to all who knew her."

Across the way, I notice Leah chatting up Paul, the new stock boy at Banner's. He checks all her boxes, and I'm not talking about the ones at the store. Tall, dark, and handsome with a barbed-wire tattoo on his bicep under his too tight t-shirt.

Their interaction is amusing, but it's when I catch the eye of another familiar face that I actually smile. His gorgeous profile is illuminated by the flame and it reminds me that this isn't a social event. I glance down at my own candle and focus on the reason I'm here.

A poem is read, a song is sung, and her bereaved roommate tearfully talks about her time with Bree before the dean takes the microphone wearing the same tired expression on his face. "In times like these, ordinary words often fail us. They can't encompass all of the sadness and grief we may be feeling." He looks out over the crowd. "I didn't know Bree Tanner personally, but I suspect that her life was much like the flames we hold in our hands. Bright and brilliant," he stares down at the candle, "yet fragile and sadly extinguishable."

Taking a deep breath, he raises his head. "This is truly a heartbreaking loss. I know that words alone can't ease your minds, but I urge you to look around you. We're here in celebration and remembrance, but you'll notice we came together as a college and a community. Our unity is our strength." His eyes scan the crowd. "Together we are supported. Together we are safe." He lowers his voice. "And together we'll remember Bree Tanner, and find a way to honor her memory each day."

A choir steps up, humming the tune to "Lean on Me". Rose and I exchange a look when we realize we're both swaying to the music. Rose is full-on belting out the song while I mouth the words. We haven't reached that point in our friendship where she can know that I sound like a straight up dude when I sing. My arm brushes against someone and I turn to apologize, but I'm struck silent when I realize who's standing beside me.

"Hey," he murmurs, stuffing a hand in his pullover.

"Hi." The word comes out hushed and a little breathy. I should be embarrassed, but it makes the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile so I can't say I regret it.

We're quiet through the rest of the song, standing close but staring straight ahead.

I peek up at him when the music ends, pushing my hair behind my ear. "I meant to call you back today, I've just been kind of like …"

"Preoccupied," he offers when I trail off.

"Definitely preoccupied."

"How're you holding up?"

"Fine, I think."

"You think?"

"Maybe a little shook up."

"I figured as much. When I saw the snippet of you leaving the store with the cop on the news, you looked more than a little traumatized."

"I was." Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Rose watching our interaction closely. "Um, Edward this is my friend, Rose. Rose, this is Edward, the guy I was telling you about."

He shakes her hand, wearing that damn playful smirk. "Do I even want to know what you told her about me?"

"She was pretty complimentary given the circumstances," Rose teases, giving me a wink.

"Yeah, probably not one of my finer moments." Laughing, he nervously runs his fingers through his hair and glances at me. "Thanks for not telling her I was a creep."

"Dude!" A voice calls from nearby and an enormous guy rocking a backwards cap and a Middlebury baseball shirt barrels over and claps Edward on the back. "We've gotta head out, Alec's hook-up at the liquor store only works until nine."

"One sec, Em."

"Ladies," the guy dips his head in our direction, but his eyes are on Rose. "You guys coming tomorrow?"

Edward looks down, shaking his head. "Not the place for this, Em."

"Dude, what? You heard your dad. We're here to support each other." He puts his hand on his chest. "This is me, finding a way to reach out to a couple fellow students. Now why don't you introduce me to your friends, Ed."

Edward begrudgingly acquaints us with his friend Emmett McCarty. He's a history major, a catcher on the baseball team, and a shameless flirt with a dimpled smile that could very easily charm the pants off of my roommate.

"So, what do you say, girls? Care to join our little soirée?"

Edward leans in and whispers in my ear. "I swear I didn't come over here to lure you over to my place tomorrow."

I give him my best Marcia Brady look. "Sure, Jan."

"I'm serious. I honestly wanted to take you out."

"How about this?" Emmett says, clapping his hands together. "You two grab some dinner." He smacks Edward in the arm with the back of his hand. "Take her somewhere nice, will ya?"

Edward rolls his eyes.

"Then afterwards, you two swing by, scoop up Rose, and …" He does a little dance, swaying his hips. "We can see where the night takes us."

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the expression on Edward's face. I'm guessing it's embarrassment, disbelief, and amusement all rolled into one. He opens his mouth to speak when a car horn blares nearby and a couple of guys in a pickup truck yell for them to hurry up.

"Sounds like a plan," Rose says, bumping me with her hip.

"Yeah?" Emmett asks, smiling wide. "Awesome! Edward will call you tomorrow about dinner. If he doesn't, come by anyways. We're at The Stables, apartment number four." He nods toward the truck. "Come on man, we gotta go."

I tug on Edward's sleeve. "Call me tomorrow?"

He catches my hand and squeezes softly. "Definitely."

We watch them climb into the back of the pick-up truck before it screeches out of the lot.

"You know," I blow out my candle while we walk back to the dorm, "we don't have to go if you don't want to."

"Are you kidding me? I've been dying to go to The Stables since Freshman Preview this summer."

"Why?"

"Well, the girl who did our tour was telling us how there are no sororities or frats at Middlebury. The closest thing they have is The Stables."

"It's a frat?"

"No, it's just an apartment building. But according to her, it's where all the best parties are thrown."

"Interesting."

"She warned us to stay away from there unless we were looking for an STD, a reputation, or trouble."

"And are you in the market for any of the above?"

"A little trouble might be fun."

"There's nothing little about the trouble you're into."

"He's cute, right?" She sounds almost giddy and it's adorable.

A squad car slowly rolls by us and I stare down at my unlit candle, feeling uneasy. "Is it wrong to be happy right now? I mean, given what's going on?"

"I don't think it's wrong, per se. I mean, one could argue that it puts things into perspective."

"How so?"

"You know, the whole life is short, live in the moment … behave badly with handsome boys."

"I don't seem to recall behaving badly being one of those platitudes."

"Well, it should be. Plus, if you really think about it, this could be research for your writing."

"True. Bad behavior does make for good stories."

"Honey, please," she winds her arm around mine. "Bad behavior makes for great stories."

A/N: Lots of amazing authors are taking part in a fundraiser to benefit one of our fandom's own. If you're interested in meeting some of your fave writers over Zoom, head over to the Author's 411 group on Facebook to get info on how to participate. My pal, planetblue, is hosting her Zoom next Thursday, July 30th which I'm excited to attend. It'll be so much fun – hope to see you there!

I didn't get to read much this week b/c we rescued a puppy. Keep the fic recs coming!

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