Author's Note: Another season, another chapter. Thanks as always to my beta's AerosolDoc and Twilightzoner, and to everyone who's been reading and enjoying. Hope it was worth the wait!

It rained during the concert, a thunderstorm that shook the stained-glass windows of the small church, for a moment drowning out the music all together. At the burst of a particularly loud thunderclap, Bella saw Edward flinch; she was then surprised that, at the start of intermission, he motioned toward the tall windows in the back of the building. While the rest of the audience mingled at the refreshment booth, the they stood side by side and peered out at the rain. Through the thick glass, the night had become a black, endless river.

"I wonder if this is what one sees through the porthole of a ship," Edward said.

Bella looked at him. "I don't know. Have you ever been on a ship?"

He met her gaze briefly. "Once, for a few hours. Dinner cruises on the lake were very popular some decades ago. I suppose they still are."

Something about the way he pronounced the word 'dinner' gave Bella pause, but before she could say anything, the tuning of a violin marked the end of intermission. They returned to their seats in silence.

Music swelled around them, and for a while, Bella labored to give the musicians on stage her full attention. But even as she forced her gaze not to wander, she could not help but be aware of Edward sitting next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he sat very still, hands in his lap, fingers folded. He did not fidget, did not shift or sigh, to the point that she wondered if he was aware of his surroundings. Yet when she did glance at him, his expression left no doubt of how deeply he was engaged with the music. The crease in his brow would deepen as the tension in the melody grew, the corners of his mouth twitched with each crescendo, and his eyes never left the stage. Bella had never particularly liked classical music, never had the patience to appreciate it; now, watching Edward's audience, she began to feel that she had been missing something all along.

When the final notes of a violin solo died away, Edward leaned back in his chair and exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath. Then he turned to her and smiled.

On their way out of the church, he held the door for her and the group of people that exited after them. Again, she found herself watching him, studying his profile as intently as he had studied the musicians on stage. The set of his shoulders, the shape of his hands, the contrast of his dark hair and pale complexion – this was not the first time she had thought of him as handsome, but before, it had been a fleeting thought, pushed away as quickly as it came. Now, it was so obvious, so striking, that she had to pull her eyes away or risk being caught staring. When he finally came to stand beside her, she had the sudden urge to touch some part of him, remembering in a flash what it had felt like to fall asleep with his fingers curled around her arm. Instead, she pushed one hand into her pocket, and with the other began to flick rain water off the leaves of a nearby bush.

"I am glad the rain has stopped," Edward said, looking up. "I did not bring an umbrella."

"Yeah. Me neither."

People were still exiting the church. A group of older, better dressed concert-goers filed in between them, and she stepped into the grass to let them pass. From across the sidewalk, Edward offered a faint smile. "Would you like to walk for a bit? There is a park by the lake about three quarters of a mile from here."

She nodded. "Sure."

They headed down a street filled with restaurants and store fronts, walking side by side and in silence. Once, his hand brushed against hers, and something in her stomach twitched. Immediately, she had a vision of how they might look to a passerby: a couple, a perfectly normal human couple, walking down the street and holding hands. It seemed impossible that from the outside things could appear so simple, so easily defined. Still, as his fingers slipped past hers, and he made no attempt to take her hand, she felt an acute sense of disappointment.

Half-way down the next block, Edward finally spoke. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

"I did, actually. I didn't think I would, but it was pretty good."

"You didn't think you would?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Classical music isn't really my thing."

"Oh." Disappointment was written so plainly on his face that she almost wished she'd lied. "Why didn't you say so? Why didn't you tell me? We could have done something you are more partial to."

"It's not a big deal. It was better than I expected."

He didn't seem appeased. "I should have asked first. I just assumed… Vivaldi is one of my favorites, so I thought – "

"It's okay," she interrupted. "I'm glad we went."

Edward didn't reply.

They turned east onto a street lined with brick townhouses and broad, leafy trees. The air seemed to be thickening with humidity. Bella could feel her hair beginning to stick to the back of her neck.

"What is happening with your roof?"

The question caught her off-guard. "Uh – the roofers came out on Monday. They put up some more tarps. Apparently, they can't start the repairs for least a week after it stops raining, the wood needs to dry. Which isn't great," she added, "but I'm still tracking down my mother for the money anyway."

"Where is she?"

"Somewhere between Mumbai and New Delhi."

"Ah. She is traveling."

"Yeah. For a while." The words didn't come out sounding as bitter as they tasted.

"Are the repairs expensive?"

She grimaced. "Almost fifteen grand. Plus there's all the drywall that needs to be replaced upstairs, and some of the flooring. It's ridiculous."

"I could give you the money." Edward spoke so quickly that she was sure she had misheard.

"What?"

"If you need the money, I could give it to you." He gave a sharp chuckle. "I have plenty, and I've run out of things to spend it on. You would be doing me a favor."

For a moment, she couldn't think of a reply. "Um..."

"Well, consider it."

"Okay," she said, and groped for another topic. "I decided to move out."

"You have? Why?"

"Well... I think – I should have done it a while ago. This whole thing with the roof… it's as good an excuse as any."

He didn't answer at first. Then, "I am glad."

"Glad?" It seemed an odd thing to say.

"Yes. Living there as you do does not seem … helpful."

She let out a laugh. "No, it's not. But –" She ran a hand through her hair, fingers getting caught in a tangle. "I grew up in that house, you know? With my whole family, with Alice... It always felt wrong to leave, even before she died."

"Hm." Edward's expression was difficult to interpret. After a pause, he said, "I have never left Chicago. I used to think I acted out of convenience, but now, looking back on it… This was the last place where I lived as a human. Even before I remembered anything about that life, I believe some part of me clung to it. So –" his lips had gathered into solemn pucker "– I think I understand."

Bella nodded, as if the comparison were perfectly reasonable, but she felt like a bobble-head doll stuck on someone's dashboard. He presented these facts about himself so casually, but they were anything but. She felt she ought to reply, say something appreciative or insightful, but her mind was stuck on the sheer length of his life and how different it had been from hers.

"Where will you move to?" Edward asked, breaking the silence. There was a lightness to his tone that seemed deliberate.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Rent is cheaper up north, but it's farther from work. Jake lives in Lincoln Square, and it seems nice enough, but..."

"But?"

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then let it go. In Edward's expression, she saw nothing but curiosity. "I don't know. These last few days, I keep thinking moving out should be moving toward something. Something else."

"Something else?" The same curiosity colored his voice, and all of a sudden, Bella wanted to put words to the restlessness she had begun to feel. It seemed important to be able to explain it to him.

"I can't fix bikes and pour drinks for the next twenty years. I don't want to. I'm twenty-six. I want to start doing something that matters, something I care about. Something–"

"Something with purpose?" Edward's tone had become more somber. When she looked up at his face, she saw that he understood perfectly.

"Yeah. Exactly," she said, then turned and looked around, for they had stopped walking, and she felt like changing the subject.

They had come to the end of a residential street. The last lot facing the lake was not a house but a small park, surrounded by an iron fence which rose several feet above their heads. A thick metal chain was coiled around the bars of the double gate. Beyond, a path wound between grass and clusters of young trees, ending in the rock-lined shore of Lake Michigan.

"Is this it? It looks locked." For no particular reason, Bella reached for the gate.

"It is." Edward's hand came up and covered hers just before she took hold of the metal bars. He brought a finger to his lips and motioned to the nearest house and its bright windows. "This is a private park," he said in a near-whisper.

She let him pull her hand away, too conscious of the fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Wait just a moment," he said in the same soft tone. In the next instant, he was in the air, vaulting over the fence as if the concrete sidewalk had been his personal trampoline. Bella felt rather than heard the impact of his feel landing on the other side. When he turned back to the gate, she saw that he was smiling, as if he were pleased with himself while knowing that he shouldn't be. She just stared, awed at how he could make jumping over a ten foot fence look as simple as stepping off a curb. Then she wondered how he intended to unlock the gate and why it was necessary to do it from the other side.

When he reached for the hinges, she couldn't hold back a snort.

His hands stilled for a moment. "What?"

"No, nothing. Why bother with locks if you can take off the whole gate, right?"

He eyed her through the iron bars. By now she could recognize that look on his face – he was trying to decide if she was serious. "Relax. I'm just giving you a hard time," she whispered.

"Oh." For a moment, his expression didn't change. He slid a thick bolt out of the top hinge, the sound barely louder than the rustle of leaves. "This seemed the most elegant solution."

"You're breaking us into a park, and you're worried about elegance?"

He returned her teasing tone with another smile. "It is one way to pass the time. In any case, I don't intend for us to break anything." In his hands, the gate folded into itself like the cover of a giant iron book. Bella walked through, wondering how much the whole thing weighed, but didn't ask. A moment later, he'd reassembled the hinges, and they turned toward the lake. As they walked, Bella could almost feel the tension ebbing out of their silence.

Nearing the shore, she saw that it was not lined with rocks, but broken plates of cement. Their flat surfaces were piled against each other at odd angles, like a sidewalk torn apart by the roots of an invisible tree. Water splashed against the cement, tossing about the lights of the city on quick, tiny waves. Three miles to the south, the skyline of downtown Chicago rose up out of a thin fog, the buildings appearing to float on water.

"This is one of my favorite places," Edward said. "The land was once the grounds of an old house. Built before my time, in the 1800s. An opulent house. The property was condemned for decades before the city turned into a park. At one point, I could have bought it. I almost wish I had."

Bella stepped onto a wide slab of rock, closer to the water. "Why didn't you?"

"Well," Edward said behind her, "that was a long time ago."

She turned around. "What does that mean?"

"Ah..." he began. She frowned a little as he trailed off into nothing, and then he was frowning too, running a hand over his brow. "Bella, you must understand. For most of this life, I have not been who I am now."

"I don't understand," she said, careful to keep any sharpness out of her voice. "That's why I'm asking."

He nodded, now rubbing his chin, and walked past her to the very edge of the water. She watched the back of his head as he stood there, noting absently that the length of his hair was a bit uneven, as if whoever cut it had done so in the dark or in a hurry.

After a moment, Edward sank to a crouch, and peered over his shoulder. "Would you like to sit?"

"Okay." She stepped forward and lowered herself next to him. Pulling her sandals off, she let her legs dangle over the edge of the rock, only a foot or so above the water.

"You recall that I have been living as I do now for only ten years." It was not a question, but Bella nodded anyway. Though he spoke softly in both tone and volume, her stomach tightened at his words. She wished he wouldn't pause so often. "Well," he continued, as if sensing her trepidation, "I did not mean only that I acquired a new profession, or decided to expand my diet. Before the memories of my past life came back to me, I was a different person – no, a different creature all together."

She could not help it. In the black water of the lake, all she could see was Edward in that alley, crouched over a woman, draining her body of its blood in long, greedy gulps.

As she drew a sharp breath, he shifted away from her. "Yes," he said. "Perhaps you do understand." Picking up a handful of tiny pebbles that littered the ground, he began to shake them in his fist. Bella looked up at the sound, her eyes finding their way up to his profile. In some ways, he looked nothing like the vampire she had seen that night.

"Okay," she said, as much to herself as to anyone. "You were different. You... didn't care who you killed. And now you do, so – "

"That isn't the only difference." The emotion in his voice surprised her. "This is what I am trying to explain. Before, my appearance was the only human thing about me. I did not speak unless it was necessary, I did not pick up a newspaper, I didn't even bother to keep track of the month or the year. I could sit in place for days, in this very park even, and be barely aware of time's passage. I lived in this city, I killed its people and stole its money, but if you'd asked me about its landmarks or its culture, or whether my last kill had been a man or a child, I would have barely understood what you were talking about. It wasn't simply that I didn't care whom I killed. I didn't care about anything." With that, he swung his fist forward, sending the gravel flying into the dark water. It broke the surface in a ring of tiny splashes.

Bella watched the small chaos of ripples disappear, until the water held no sign of Edward's sudden anger. "You make it sound like you weren't even a person."

"I wasn't. If consciousness is truly the thing which separates humans from other animals, I would have failed the test."

She stared at him. "I can't believe that. You're telling me that when I was in high school, you weren't even human? How is that possible? I mean, how could you have changed? You can't just snap your fingers and become a person. That can't be true."

"It is." He dropped his gaze, and when he spoke again, his tone had lost much of its sharpness. "I don't know, Bella. I don't understand it any more than you do. I wish that I did. But I am not lying to you."

"I'm not saying you are. I'm sorry, it's just – hard to imagine. You're so rational, all you seem to do is think. I just can't believe that person didn't exist before 1995."

He surprised her with a brief smile. "Well, it isn't quite like you imagine. Not such a sudden change. I didn't look around one day and begin reading philosophy and keeping journals. And it isn't that I didn't think before then, either. But they were very banal thoughts, about feeding, about concealing myself properly. I thought, but I didn't examine. That is the crucial difference."

She pursed her lips at him. "I don't think that's enough to count you out of being human. I know plenty of people who don't 'examine.' They still get birth certificates. Maybe you're just remembering it wrong. You said your memory isn't very good, maybe you weren't as–"

"No. I know what I was. I was a vampire. Only a vampire."

Not like now. She heard the words even though he did not say them. Suddenly she understood why he was arguing this point with such fervor. She did not want to contradict him.

She began to swing her legs back and forth, feeling a bit like a small child. "So... how long have you played the piano?" she asked after a moment.

He turned his head. "How did you know I play the piano?"

Again, his tone caught her off guard. "I heard you play. The second time I came to your apartment." She felt like she was confessing a crime. "I heard it from the stairs."

"Oh." A gust of wind had blown some hair into his face, concealing his expression.

"I liked it," she offered. "Tom Waits, right?"

He nodded, but didn't reply. She frowned, rubbing a smudge of dirt from her leg. Somewhere off-shore, the horn of a ship gave a long, low wail. The sound echoed off the rocks.

"Do you remember the song?"

She looked up, eyebrows drawn together.

"The song that I was playing?" He did not not meet her eyes.

Slowly, she shook her head. "No."

He did not speak for so long that she thought it was the end of the conversation. But then he sighed and began to recite:

"Did you hear the news about Edward?

In the back of his head, he had another face.

Was it a woman's face, or a young girl?

They said to remove it would kill him,

so poor Edward was doomed."

He grew silent. Bella said nothing.

"There was a man named Edward Mordrake who lived in England in the 19th century. He was born with a deformity, an extra face back here." He tapped the back of his skull, just above his neck. "He suffered from insomnia, claimed the face spoke to him at night. He called it his 'devil twin.' The state of medicine was such that doctors would not attempt to remove it. He hung himself when he was twenty-three."

There was something in his voice that Bella recognized – a rash, desolate kind of bitterness. She didn't like it. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. There is no reason. Except, sometimes – sometimes I think that I haven't changed at all. There are parts of me – certain impulses, certain physical sensations –" his hand rose into the air, grasping at nothing "– that later seem so odd, so foreign. In those moments, I don't know who I am at all, and it … it frightens me."

She reached for his hand, wrapping both of hers around it. She felt his eyes snap to her face; hers were glued to the water. "I'm sorry," she said. Their fingers, now intertwined, sank down to the stone. "For what it's worth, I'm not afraid of you."

"Not right now," he whispered, tugging lightly on her hands. She didn't resist, letting her body turn to face him.

"No. Not right now."

In the next instant, he had pulled her hands up to his chest, his face only inches away, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. The moment before he kissed her, some stupid part of her wondered if his mouth would taste like blood.

End Notes

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