After a time, the pianist stood up and beckoned toward the crowd at the bar. I saw the woman Betty in his thoughts, and sure enough, she broke away from the crowd, laughing loudly as she skipped up onto the stage and stepped up to the microphone. I saw in her mind that she did this several nights a week, and that she depended on tips for the majority of her income.

She nodded to the pianist, and in a moment her song was filling the room. A hush fell over the crowd momentarily, and all eyes turned to her – but only for a moment. The buzz of conversation slowly rose again until Betty's singing was just a small part of dissonant blend of sounds in the room.

As my mind was beginning to organize and filter through all the smells around me, I began to notice the scents of all the humans in the room. My nose wrinkled; I was surrounded by humans, but there was a bitter tinge to most of their blood scents, due to their alcohol consumption. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to find a meal. I was about to leave when I overheard the thoughts from a table nearby.

That Betty sure is a real Sheba. And those pearls – I bet they'd fetch a pretty price. I glanced over to find the source of the thoughts; he looked a shady character, slouching in the shadows as he played cards with three other men. I picked his name out of his companions' thoughts: Mickey was apparently notorious for his hustling in their poker games, and they were all watching him warily. His mind wasn't on the game, though. He was still thinking about the pearls. If I could just get my hands on them, it'd sure help cover the bills this month. I sure ain't having much luck here at the table tonight. Might have a bit of fun with Betty, too. He smiled to himself, thinking about the bowie knife in his pocket. Yep, I think this is my lucky night. He began to form a plan in his mind, and I saw his intention to get Betty alone in the alley behind the furniture store, and his intention to leave the alley alone, the pearls in his possession. Satisfied with his plot, he turned his attention back to the cards in his hand.

I smiled to myself, too. I had my next target; Mickey's mind was even more odious than Charles' had been. His companions suspected he had killed a man last month following an especially heated poker night, and they were right. I noted with further pleasure that Mickey hadn't been drinking tonight, having put all his money into his game. His blood would be clean, and so would Betty's; after all, they would be together in the alley when I followed Mickey out later. It wouldn't do to leave a witness, so it made sense to clean up after myself. My fingers gripped the bottle harder in anticipation, and the top half of it shattered into my hand.

I strolled over to the trash can in the corner, and discreetly poured out half the bottle with the broken glass. As I passed by the stage, I glanced up at Betty as sang. She had performed this song many times before and her mind was wandering.

What a great crowd! I bet I make another twenty dollars tonight. She was eyeing the open steamer trunk sitting at the front edge of the stage, pleased with the growing pile of money in it. A few more nights like this and we might be able to land that apartment after all. She was picturing her three-year old son, whom she had left sleeping alone tonight while she came to her "night job".

While I was put off by Betty's appearance and unladylike behavior, there was no mistaking the tenderness in her thoughts about her son, and the pride she felt in her growing success as a lounge singer. She was proud of her efforts to support her son and herself, but I saw a glimpse of disappointment; her original plan had been to work her way to New York City, where her talent was supposed to be discovered. She really did remind me of Mildred. I walked up to the stage and slipped a few dollars into the steamer trunk. Betty saw this and favored me with a wink. There's a new face, she thought as she watched me walk back to my table. He sure looks lonesome. Maybe he'd like to walk me home tonight. As I sat down and glanced back at her, she winked at me again, and I rolled my eyes. I might have left behind Carlisle's small-town human life, but there was no escaping the attentions of the likes of Mildred and Betty.

I sat impatiently now, spinning the broken bottle between my fingers as the revelry continued around me. I marveled at the realization that, vampire or not, my life had been quite sheltered with Carlisle and Esme. As the night wore on, I amused myself by listening to the thoughts around me, and I gradually pieced together the stories of the humans in the speakeasy. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, as I was forced to conclude that each person here had a life, not just a scent. They're just humans, I reminded myself. Prey.

It would probably take me some time to lose this sentimental attachment to their species. I had, after all, spent the past nine years pretending to be one of them. It eased my conscience a bit, however, when I thought of the service I was doing them: next morning would find Columbus short one criminal. I would even leave Betty alive, if I could manage it. I had spared Charles' wife because her story reminded me of Esme's, and now I found myself deciding to spare Betty, as well, because she reminded me so much of Mildred. I felt curiously protective toward her, and congratulated myself for my decision to save her from Mickey's plot.

Just then, as if in response to my thought, Mickey shoved his chair back and stood, raking the pile of cash towards himself and chuckling at his victory; he had cheated in the end, with no one the wiser. He stashed the money deep inside his coat, reserving a hundred dollars out of the lot. He carried this over to the stage and smiled up at Betty, making sure she noticed as he deposited the money in the trunk. In her surprise, Betty stumbled over her song and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Why don't I walk you home tonight, sugar?" he whispered in her ear. Her smile faltered just for a second as she nodded. She picked up her song again, and he returned to his table.

Mickey seems like a swell guy, and I've seen him around often enough. I guess it couldn't hurt, especially after that hundred. She was trying to convince herself to trust him, and his success infuriated me. I had chosen my prey well.

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The party finally broke up around four in the morning. Betty received her share of the tips and took the feather out of her hair. Mickey sauntered up and helped her into her overcoat, and they turned to leave. I eased out of my chair and headed toward the stairwell with the rest of the crowd, tossing my half-full bottle into the trash on my way out. We wound our way back upstairs and out through the furniture store, and I waited a moment before following Mickey and Betty; they had slipped around the side of the store, into the alley. When I turned the corner, Mickey was just pulling his knife out of his pocket and Betty's face was twisting in horror as she realized her predicament.

In a blink, I had my right hand around Mickey's throat and he was pinned up against the brick wall, his feet dangling in the air. "Run, Betty," I growled over my shoulder. In the heat of the hunt, I was beginning to notice the aroma of her blood as well as Mickey's, and I knew if she didn't get out of my sight now, I wasn't going to be able to stop myself.

"Thanks, stranger," she breathed and she scampered out of sight. I turned my gaze back to Mickey's face, which was now as white as a sheet. With a quick twist of my grip, he was dead, and I was feasting again.

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Five minutes later I was looking down at the city beneath me. I was perched on the roof of a high rise on Broad Street, the highest point I could find. I was watching Betty as she ran home, transfixed by her thoughts. She was frantically thanking God for her narrow escape, and when she reached the boardinghouse, she ran upstairs and threw herself down on the bed, sobbing as she held her sleeping child close.

The scene warmed my dead heart. I was glad for my choice to let her go, and I resolved at that moment to only hunt those humans who preyed on others. I felt some poetic justice in my decision; one predator devouring another. Would Carlisle be proud of my choice? I knew the answer to that. But I reminded myself that, but for my intervention, Betty would be lying dead in the alley right now, and a child would have been orphaned. I wasn't a monster, an indiscriminate killer like other vampires; I was a vigilante, a protector of the weak.

I looked down at the people of the city again, triumphant as I realized it had only taken me five days to find my place in their world. I was their hidden savior, the avenging angel stalking the evil in their midst.

I was a hero.

The End

Poor Edward... he's such a good liar he almost believes himself. But you know it won't last long. The next story is 1931, though you may want to pause and read the "Failure" outtake, which is Carlisle's version of Edward's departure and the next couple days after that. Either way, I thank you for reading! Please take a moment to review... I'm still active on FF and I love chatting with readers as they go through the Series.