phenomenon

Truly, I was not thirsty, but I decided to hunt again that night. A small ounce of prevention, inadequate though I knew it to be.

Carlisle came with me; we hadn't been alone together since I'd returned from Denali. As we ran through the black forest, I heard him thinking about that hasty goodbye last week.

In his memory, I saw the way my features had been twisted in fierce despair. I felt his surprise and sudden worry.

"Edward?"

"I have to go, Carlisle. I have to go now."

"What's happened?"

"Nothing. Yet. But it will, if I stay."

He'd reached for my arm. I felt how it had hurt him when I'd cringed away from

his hand.

"I don't understand."

"Have you ever...has there ever been a time..."

I watched myself take a deep breath, saw the wild light in my eyes through the filter of his deep concern.

"Has any one person ever smelled better to you than the rest of them? Much

better?"

"Oh."

When I'd known that he understood, my face had fallen with shame. He'd reached out to touch me, ignoring it when I'd recoiled again, and left his hand on my shoulder.

"Do what you must to resist, son. I will miss you. Here, take my car. It's faster."

He was wondering now if he'd done the right thing then, sending me away. Wondering if he hadn't hurt me with his lack of trust.

"No," I whispered as I ran. "That was what I needed. I might so easily have betrayed that trust, if you'd told me to stay."

"I'm sorry you're suffering, Edward. But you should do what you can to keep the Swan boy alive. Even if it means that you must leave us again."

"I know, I know."

"Why did you come back? You know how happy I am to have you here, but if this is too difficult..."

"I didn't like feeling a coward," I admitted.

We'd slowed—we were barely jogging through the darkness now.

"Better that than to put him in danger. He'll be gone in a year or two."

"You're right, I know that." Contrarily, though, his words only made me more anxious to stay. The boy would be gone in a year or two...

Carlisle stopped running and I stopped with him; he turned to examine my expression.

But you're not going to run, are you?

I hung my head.

Is it pride, Edward? There's no shame in—

"No, it isn't pride that keeps me here. Not now."

Nowhere to go?

I laughed shortly. "No. That wouldn't stop me, if I could make myself leave."

"We'll come with you, of course, if that's what you need. You only have to ask. You've moved on without complaint for the rest of them. They won't begrudge you this."

I raised one eyebrow.

He laughed. "Yes, Royal might, but he owes you. Anyway, it's much better for us to leave now, no damage done, than for us to leave later, after a life has been ended." All humor was gone by the end.

I flinched at his words.

"Yes," I agreed. My voice sounded hoarse.

But you're not leaving?

I sighed. "I should."

"What holds you here, Edward? I'm failing to see..."

"I don't know if I can explain." Even to myself, it made no sense.

He measured my expression for a long moment.

No, I do not see. But I will respect your privacy, if you prefer.

"Thank you. It's generous of you, seeing as how I give privacy to no one." With one exception. And I was doing what I could to deprive him of that, wasn't I?

We all have our quirks. He laughed again. Shall we?

He'd just caught the scent of a small herd of deer. It was hard to rally much enthusiasm for what was, even under the best of circumstances, a less than mouthwatering aroma. Right now, with the memory of the boy's blood fresh in my mind, the smell actually turned my stomach.

I sighed. "Let's," I agreed, though I knew that forcing more blood down my throat would help so little.

We both shifted into a hunting crouch and let the unappealing scent pull us silently forward.

It was colder when we returned home. The melted snow had refrozen; it was as if a thin sheet of glass covered everything—each pine needle, each fern frond, each blade of grass was iced over.

While Carlisle went to dress for his early shift at the hospital, I stayed by the river, waiting for the sun to rise. I felt almost swollen from the amount of blood I'd consumed, but I knew the lack of actual thirst would mean little when I sat beside the boy again.

Cool and motionless as the stone I sat on, I stared at the dark water running beside the icy bank, stared right through it.

Carlisle was right. I should leave Forks. They could spread some story to explain my absence. Boarding school in Europe. Visiting distant relatives. Teenage runaway. The story didn't matter. No one would question too intensely.

It was just a year or two, and then the boy would disappear. He would go on with his life—he would have a life to go on with. He'd go to college somewhere, get older, start a career, perhaps marry someone. I could picture that—I could see him dressed in a fine tuxedo, sharing a first dance with a safe, human partner.

It was odd, the pain that image caused me. I couldn't understand it. Was I jealous, because he had a future that I could never have? That made no sense. Every one of the humans around me had that same potential ahead of them—a life—and I rarely stopped to envy them.

I should leave him to his future. Stop risking his life. That was the right thing to do. Carlisle always chose the right way. I should listen to him now.

The sun rose behind the clouds, and the faint light glistened off all the frozen glass.

One more day, I decided. I would see him one more time. I could handle that. Perhaps I would mention my pending disappearance, set the story up.

This was going to be difficult; I could feel that in the heavy reluctance that was already making me think of excuses to stay—to extend the deadline to two days, three, four... But I would do the right thing. I knew I could trust Carlisle's advice. And I also knew that I was too conflicted to make the right decision alone.

Much too conflicted. How much of this reluctance came from my obsessive curiosity, and how much came from my unsatisfied appetite?

I went inside to change into fresh clothes for school.

Alice was waiting for me, sitting on the top step at the edge of the third floor.

You're leaving again, she accused me.

I sighed and nodded.

I can't see where you're going this time.

"I don't know where I'm going yet," I whispered.

I want you to stay.

I shook my head.

Maybe Jazz and I could come with you?

"They'll need you all the more, if I'm not here to watch out for them. And think of Esme. Would you take half her family away in one blow?"

You're going to make her so sad.

"I know. That's why you have to stay."

That's not the same as having you here, and you know it.

"Yes. But I have to do what's right."

There are many right ways, and many wrong ways, though, aren't there?

For a brief moment she was swept away into one of her strange visions; I watched along with her as the indistinct images flickered and whirled. I saw myself mixed in with strange shadows that I couldn't make out—hazy, imprecise forms. And then, suddenly, my skin was glittering in the bright sunlight of a small open meadow. This was a place I knew. There was a figure in the meadow with me, but, again, it was indistinct, not there enough to recognize. The images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again.

"I didn't catch much of that," I told her when the vision went dark.

Me either. Your future is shifting around so much I can't keep up with any of it. I think, though...

She stopped, and she flipped through a vast collection of other recent visions for me. They were all the same—blurry and vague.

"I think something is changing, though," she said out loud. "Your life seems to be at a crossroads."

I laughed grimly. "You do realize that you sound like a bogus fortune teller at a carnival now, right?"

She stuck her tiny tongue out at me.

"Today is all right, though, isn't it?" I asked, my voice abruptly apprehensive.

"I don't see you killing anyone today," she assured me.

"Thanks, Alice."

"Go get dressed. I won't say anything—I'll let you tell the others when you're ready."

She stood and darted back down the stairs, her shoulders hunched slightly.

Miss you. Really.

Yes, I would really miss her, too.

It was a quiet ride to school. Jasper could tell that Alice was upset about something, but he knew that if she wanted to talk about it she would have done so already. Emmett and Royal were oblivious, having another of their moments, gazing into each others' eyes with wonder—it was rather disgusting to watch from the outside. We were all quite aware how desperately in love they were. Or maybe I was just being bitter because I was the only one alone. Some days it was harder than others to live with three sets of perfectly matched lovers. This was one of them.

Maybe they would all be happier without me hanging around, ill-tempered and belligerent as the old man I should be by now.

Of course, the first thing I did when we reached the school was to look for the boy. Just preparing myself again.

Right.

It was embarrassing how my world suddenly seemed to be empty of everything but him—my whole existence centered around him, rather than around myself anymore.

It was easy enough to understand, though, really; after so many years of the same thing every day and every night, any change became a point of absorption.

He had not yet arrived, but could I hear the thunderous chugging of his truck's engine in the distance. I leaned against the side of the car to wait. Alice stayed with me, while the others went straight to class. They were bored with my fixation—it was incomprehensible to them how any human could hold my interest for so long, no matter how delicious he smelled.

He drove slowly into view, his eyes intent on the road and his hands tight on the wheel. He seemed anxious about something. It took me a second to figure out what that something was, to realize that every human wore the same expression today. Ah, the road was slick with ice, and they were all trying to drive more carefully. I could see he was taking the added risk seriously.

That seemed in line with what little I had learned of his character. I added this to my small list: he was a serious person, a responsible person.

He parked not too far from me, but he hadn't noticed me standing here yet, staring at him. I wondered what he would do when he did? Blush and walk away?

That was my first guess. But maybe he would stare back. Maybe he would come to talk to me.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs hopefully, just in case.

He got out of the truck with care, testing the slick ground before he put his weight on it. He didn't look up, and that frustrated me. Maybe I would go talk to him...

No, that would be wrong.

Instead of turning toward the school, he made his way to the rear of his truck, clinging to the side of the truck bed in a droll way, not trusting his footing. It made me smile, and I felt Alice's eyes on my face. I didn't listen to whatever this made her think—I was having too much fun watching the boy check his snow chains. He actually looked in some danger of falling, the way his feet were sliding around. No one else was having trouble—had he parked in the worst of the ice?

He paused there, staring down with a strange expression on his face. It was...tender? As if something about the tire was making him...emotional?

Again, the curiosity ached like a thirst. It was as if I had to know what he was thinking—as if nothing else mattered.

I would go talk to him. He looked like he could use a hand anyway, at least until he was off the slick pavement. Of course, I couldn't offer him that, could I? I hesitated, torn. As adverse as he seemed to be to snow, he would hardly welcome the touch of my cold white hand. I should have worn gloves—

"NO!" Alice gasped aloud.

Instantly, I scanned her thoughts, guessing at first that I had made a poor choice and she saw me doing something inexcusable. But it had nothing to do with me at all.

Tyler Crowley had chosen to take the turn into the parking lot at an injudicious speed. This choice would send him skidding across a patch of ice...

The vision came just half a second before the reality. Tyler's van rounded the corner as I was still watching the conclusion that had pulled the horrified gasp through Alice's lips.

No, this vision had nothing to do with me, and yet it had everything to do with me, because Tyler's van—the tires right now hitting the ice at the worst possible angle—was going to spin across the lot and crush the boy who had become the uninvited focal point of my world.

Even without Alice's foresight it would have been simple enough to read the trajectory of the vehicle, flying out of Tyler's control.

The boy, standing in the exactly wrong place at the back of his truck, looked up, bewildered by the sound of the screeching tires. He looked straight into my horror- struck eyes, and then turned to watch his approaching death.

Not him! The words shouted in my head as if they belonged to someone else.

Still locked into Alice's thoughts, I saw the vision suddenly shift, but I had no time to see what the outcome would be.

I launched myself across the lot, throwing myself between the skidding van and the frozen boy. I moved so fast that everything was a streaky blur except for the object of my focus. He didn't see me—no human eyes could have followed my flight—still staring at the hulking shape that was about to grind his body into the metal frame of his truck.

I caught him around the waist, moving with too much urgency to be as gentle as he would need me to be. In the hundredth of a second between the time that I yanked his slight form out of the path of death and the time that I crashed into to the ground with him in my arms, I was vividly aware of his fragile, breakable body.

When I heard his head crack against the ice, it felt like I had turned to ice, too.

But I didn't even have a full second to ascertain his condition. I heard the van behind us, grating and squealing as it twisted around the sturdy iron body of the boy's truck. It was changing course, arcing, coming for him again—like he was a magnet, pulling it toward us.

"Damn!" the words slid between my clenched teeth.

I had already done too much. As I'd nearly flown through the air to push him out of the way, I'd been fully aware of the mistake I was making. Knowing that it was a mistake did not stop me, but I was not oblivious to the risk I was taking—taking, not just for myself, but for my entire family.

Exposure.

And this certainly wasn't going to help, but there was no way I was going to allow the van to succeed in its second attempt to take his life.

I dropped him and threw my hands out, catching the van before it could touch him. The force of it hurled me back into the car parked beside his truck, and I could feel its frame buckle behind my shoulders. The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms, and then swayed, balancing unstably on the two far tires.

If I moved my hands, the back tire of the van was going fall onto his legs.

Oh, for the love of all that was holy, would the catastrophes never end? Was there anything else that could go wrong? I could hardly sit here, holding the van in the air, and wait for rescue. Nor could I throw the van away—there was the driver to consider, his thoughts incoherent with panic.

With an internal groan, I shoved the van so that it rocked away from us for an instant. As it fell back toward me, I caught it under the frame with my right hand while I wrapped my left arm around the boy's waist again and drug him out from under the van, pulling him tight up against my side. His body moved limply as I swung him around so that his legs would be in the clear—was he conscious? How much damage had I done to him in my impromptu rescue attempt?

I let the van drop, now that it could not hurt him. It crashed to the pavement, all the windows shattering in unison.

I knew that I was in the middle of a crisis. How much had he seen? Had any other witnesses watched me materialize at his side and then juggle the van while I tried to keep him out from under it? These questions should be my biggest concern.

But I was too anxious to really care about the threat of exposure as much as I should. Too panic-stricken that I might have injured him myself in my effort to protect him. Too frightened to have him this close to me, knowing what I would smell if I allowed myself to inhale. Too aware of the heat of his soft body, pressed against mine—even through the double obstacle of our jackets, I could feel that heat...

The first fear was the greatest fear. As the screaming of the witnesses erupted around us, I leaned down to examine his face, to see if he was conscious—hoping fiercely that he was not bleeding anywhere.

His eyes were open, staring in shock.

"Beau?" I asked urgently. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He said the words automatically in a dazed voice.

Relief, so exquisite it was nearly pain, washed through me at the sound of his voice. I sucked in a breath through my teeth, and did not mind the accompanying burn in my throat. I almost welcomed it.

He struggled to sit up, but I was not ready to release him. It felt somehow...safer? Better, at least, having him tucked into my side.

"Be careful," I warned him. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

There had been no smell of fresh blood—a mercy, that—but this did not rule out internal damage. I was abruptly anxious to get him to Carlisle and a full compliment of radiology equipment.

"Ow," he said, his tone comically shocked as he realized I was right about his head.

"That's what I thought." Relief made it funny to me, made me almost giddy.

"How in the..." His voice trailed off, and his eyelids fluttered. "How did you get over here so fast?"

The relief turned sour, the humor vanished. He had noticed too much.

Now that it appeared that he was in decent shape, the anxiety for my family became severe.

"I was standing right next to you, Beau." I knew from experience that if I was very confident as I lied, it made any questioner less sure of the truth.

He struggled to move again, and this time I allowed it. I needed to breathe so that I could play my role correctly. I needed space from his warm-blooded heat so that it would not combine with his scent to overwhelm me. I slid away from him, as far as was possible in the small space between the wrecked vehicles.

He stared up at me, and I stared back. To look away first was a mistake only an incompetent liar would make, and I was not an incompetent liar. My expression was smooth, benign... It seemed to confuse him. That was good.

The accident scene was surrounded now. Mostly students, children, peering and pushing through the cracks to see if any mangled bodies were visible. There was a babble of shouting and a gush of shocked thought. I scanned the thoughts once to make sure there were no suspicions yet, and then tuned it out and concentrated only on him.

He was distracted by the bedlam. He glanced around, his expression still stunned, and tried to get to his feet.

I put my hand lightly on his shoulder to hold him down.

"Just stay put for now." He seemed alright, but should he really be moving his neck? Again, I wished for Carlisle. My years of theoretical medical study were no match for his centuries of hands-on medical practice.

"But it's cold," he objected.

He had almost been crushed to death two distinct times and crippled one more, and it was the cold that worried him. A chuckle slid through my teeth before I could remember that the situation was not funny.

Beau blinked, and then his eyes focused on my face. "You were over there."

That sobered me again.

His expression did not falter, his pale gray eyes stayed locked on my face. "You were by your car."

"No, I wasn't."

"I saw you," he insisted; his eyes continue to probe my face.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

I stared deeply into those beautiful, wide eyes, trying to will him into accepting my version— the only rational version on the table.

"No… but," His voice faltered for a brief moment. "That's not what happened." His jaw set; defiant, resolved.

I tried to stay calm, to not panic. If only I could keep him quiet for a few moments, to give me a chance to destroy the evidence....and undermine his story by disclosing his head injury.

Shouldn't it be easy to keep this silent, secretive boy quiet? If only he would trust me, just for a few moments...

"Please, Beau," I said, and my voice was too intense, because I suddenly wanted him to trust me. Wanted it badly, and not just in regard to this accident. A stupid desire. What sense would it make for him to trust me?

"Why?" he demanded.

"Trust me," I pleaded.

"Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

It made me angry to have to lie to him again, when I so much wished that I could somehow deserve his trust. So, when I answered him, it was a retort. "Fine."

"Fine," he echoed in the same tone.

While the rescue attempt began around us—adults arriving, authorities called, sirens in the distance—I tried to ignore the boy and get my priorities in the right order. I searched through every mind in the lot, the witnesses and the latecomers both, but I could find nothing dangerous. Many were surprised to see me here beside Beau, but all concluded—as there was no other possible conclusion—that they had just not noticed me standing by him before the accident.

He was the only one who didn't accept the easy explanation, but he would be considered the least reliable witness. He had been frightened, traumatized, not to mention sustaining the blow to the head. Possibly in shock. It would be acceptable for his story to be confused, wouldn't it? No one would give it much credence above so many other spectators...

I winced when I caught the thoughts of Royal, Jasper and Emmett, just arriving on the scene. There would be hell to pay for this tonight.

I wanted to iron out the indention my shoulders had made against the tan car, but the boy was too close. I'd have to wait till he was distracted.

It was frustrating to wait—so many eyes on me—as the humans struggled with the van, trying to pull it away from us. I might have helped them, just to speed the process, but I was already in enough trouble and the boy had sharp eyes. Finally, they were able to shift it far enough away for the EMTs to get to us with their stretchers.

A familiar, grizzled face appraised me.

"Hey, Edward," Brett Warner said. He was also a registered nurse, and I knew him well from the hospital. It was a stroke of luck—the only luck today—that he was the first through to us. In his thoughts, he was noting that I looked alert and calm. "You okay, kid?"

"Perfect, Brett. Nothing touched me. But I'm afraid Beau here might have a concussion. He really hit his head when I yanked him out of the way..."

Brett turned his attention to the boy, who shot me a fierce look of betrayal. Oh, that was right. He was the quiet martyr—he'd prefer to suffer in silence.

He did not contradict my story immediately, though, and this made me feel easier.

The next EMT tried to insist that I allow myself to be treated, but it wasn't too difficult to dissuade him. I promised I would let my father examine me, and he let it go. With most humans, speaking with cool assurance was all that was needed. Most humans, just not Beau, of course. Did he fit into any of the normal patterns?

As they put a neck brace on him—and his face flushed scarlet with embarrassment—I used the moment of distraction to quietly rearrange the shape of the dent in the tan car with the back of my foot. Only my siblings noticed what I was doing, and I heard Emmett's mental promise to catch anything I missed.

Grateful for his help—and more grateful that Emmett, at least, had already forgiven my dangerous choice—I was more relaxed as I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance next to Brett.

The chief of police arrived before they had gotten Beau into the back of the ambulance.

Though Beau's father's thoughts were past words, the panic and concern emanating out of the man's mind drowned out just about every other thought in the vicinity. Wordless anxiety and guilt, a great swell of them, washed out of him as he saw his only son on the gurney.

Washed out of him and through me, echoing and growing stronger. When Alice had warned me that killing Charlie Swan's son would kill him, too, she had not been exaggerating.

My head bowed with that guilt as I listened to his panicked voice.

"Beau!" he shouted.

"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad." Beau sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

His assurance barely soothed his father's dread. Chief Swan turned at once to the closest EMT and demanded more information.

I wasn't until I heard him speaking, forming perfectly coherent sentences despite his panic, that I realized that his anxiety and concern were not wordless. I just...could not hear the exact words.

Hmm. Charlie Swan was not as silent as his son, but I could see where he got it from. Interesting.

I'd never spent much time around the town's police chief. I'd always taken him for a man of slow thought—now I realized that I was the one who was slow. His thoughts were partially concealed, not absent. I could only make out the tenor, the tone of them...

I wanted to listen harder, to see if I could find in this new, lesser puzzle the key to the boy's secrets. But Beau was loaded into the back by then, and the ambulance was on its way.

It was hard to tear myself away from this possible solution to the mystery that had come to obsess me. But I had to think now—to look at what had been done today from every angle. I had to listen, to make sure that I had not put us all in so much danger that we would have to leave immediately. I had to concentrate.

There was nothing in the thoughts of the EMTs to worry me. As far as they could tell, there was nothing seriously wrong with the boy. And Beau was sticking to the story I'd provided, thus far.

The first priority, when we reached the hospital, was to see Carlisle. I hurried through the automatic doors, but I was unable to totally forgo watching after Beau; I kept an eye on him through the paramedics' thoughts.

It was easy to find my father's familiar mind. He was in his small office, all alone—the second stroke of luck in this luckless day.

"Carlisle."

He'd heard my approach, and he was alarmed as soon as he saw my face. He jumped to his feet, his face paling to bone white. He leaned forward across the neatly organized walnut desk.

Edward—you didn't—

"No, no, it's not that."

He took deep breath. Of course not. I'm sorry I entertained the thought. Your eyes, of course, I should have known... He noted my still-golden eyes with relief.

"He's hurt, though, Carlisle, probably not seriously, but—"

"What happened?"

"A stupid car accident. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I couldn't just stand there—let it crush him—"

Start over, I don't understand. How were you involved?

"A van skidded across the ice," I whispered. I stared at the wall behind him while I spoke. Instead of a throng of framed diplomas, he had one simple oil painting—a favorite of his, an undiscovered Hassam. "He was in the way. Alice saw it coming, but there wasn't time to do anything but really run across the lot and shove him out of the way. No one noticed... except for him. I had to stop the van, too, but again, nobody saw that... besides him. I'm... I'm sorry Carlisle. I didn't mean to put us in danger."

He circled the desk and put his hand on my shoulder.

You did the right thing. And it couldn't have been easy for you. I'm proud of you, Edward.

I could look him in the eye then. "He knows there's something... wrong with me."

"That doesn't matter. If we have to leave, we leave. What has he said?"

I shook my head, a little frustrated. "Nothing yet."

Yet?

"He agreed to my version of events—but he's expecting an explanation."

He frowned, pondering this.

"He hit his head—well, I did that," I continued quickly. "I knocked him to the ground fairly hard. He seems fine, but... I don't think it will take much to discredit his account."

I felt like a cad just saying the words.

Carlisle heard the distaste in my voice. Perhaps that won't be necessary. Let's see what happens, shall we? It sounds like I have a patient to check on.

"Please," I said. "I'm so worried that I hurt him."

Carlisle's expression brightened. He smoothed his fair hair—just a few shades lighter than his golden eyes—and he laughed.

It's been an interesting day for you, hasn't it? In his mind, I could see the irony, and it was humorous, at least to him. Quite the reversal of roles. Somewhere during that short thoughtless second when I'd sprinted across the icy lot, I had transformed from killer to protector.

I laughed with him, remembering how sure I'd been that Beau would never need protecting from anything more than myself. There was an edge to my laugh because, van notwithstanding, that was still entirely true.

I waited alone in Carlisle's office—one of the longer hours I had ever lived—listening to the hospital full of thoughts.

Tyler Crowley, the van's driver, looked to be hurt worse than Beau, and the attention shifted to him while Beau waited his turn to be X-rayed. Carlisle kept in the background, trusting the PA's diagnosis that Beau was only slightly injured. This made me anxious, but I knew he was right. One glance at Carlisle's face and Beau would be immediately reminded of me, of the fact that there was something not right about my family, and that might set him talking.

He certainly had a willing enough partner to converse with. Tyler was consumed with guilt over the fact that he had almost killed the boy, and he couldn't seem to shut up about it. I could see Beau's expression through Tyler's eyes, and it was clear that he wished he would stop. How did Tyler not see that?

There was a tense moment for me when Tyler asked him how he'd gotten out of the way.

I waited, not breathing, as Beau hesitated.

"Umm..." Tyler heard him say. Then he paused for so long that Tyler wondered if his question had confused him. Finally, he went on. "Edward shoved me out of the way."

I exhaled. And then my breathing accelerated. I'd never heard Beau speak my name before. I liked the way it sounded—even just hearing it through Tyler's thoughts. I wanted to hear it for myself...

 "Edward Cullen," Beau said, when Tyler didn't realize who he meant. I found myself at the door, my hand on the knob. The desire to see him was growing stronger. I had to remind myself of the need for caution.

"He was standing next to me."

"Cullen?" Huh. That's weird. "I didn't see him." I could have sworn... "Wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

I saw the thoughtful look on Beau's face, the suspicious tightening of his eyes, but these little changes in his expression were lost on Tyler.

He's hot, Tyler was thinking, almost in surprise. Even all messed up. Definitely not my usual type, still... I should take him out. Make up for today... I bet he'd like that.

I was out in the hall, then, halfway to the emergency room, without thinking for one second about what I was doing. Luckily, the nurse entered the room before I could— it was Beau's turn for X-rays. I leaned against the wall in a dark nook just around the corner, and tried to get a grip on myself while he was wheeled away.

It didn't matter that Tyler thought he was attractive. Anyone would notice that. There was no reason for me to feel...how did I feel? Annoyed? Or was angry closer to the truth? That made no sense at all.

I stayed where I was for as long as I could, but impatience got the best of me and I took a back way around to the radiology room. He'd already been moved back to the ER, but I was able to take a peek at his x-rays while the nurse's back was turned.

I felt calmer when I had. His head was fine. I hadn't hurt him, not really. Carlisle caught me there.

You look better, he commented.

I just looked straight ahead. We weren't alone, the halls full of orderlies and

visitors.

Ah, yes. He stuck the boy's x-rays to the lightboard, but I didn't need a second look.

I see. He's absolutely fine. Well done, Edward.

The sound of my father's approval created a mixed reaction in me. I would have been pleased, except that I knew that he would not approve of what I was going to do now. At least, he would not approve if he knew my real motivations...

"I think I'm going to go talk to him—before he sees you," I murmured under my breath. "Act natural, like nothing happened. Smooth it over." All acceptable reasons.

Carlisle nodded absently, still looking over the x-rays. "Good idea. Hmm."

I looked to see what had his interest.

Look at all the healed contusions! How many times did his mother drop him?

Carlisle laughed to himself at his joke.

"I'm beginning to think the boy just has really bad luck. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Forks is certainly the wrong place for him, with you here.

I flinched.

Go ahead. Smooth things over. I'll join you momentarily.

I walked away quickly, feeling guilty. Perhaps I was too good a liar, if I could fool Carlisle.

When I got to the ER, Tyler was mumbling under his breath, still apologizing. The boy was trying to escape his remorse by pretending to sleep. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was not even, and now and then his fingers would twitch impatiently.

I stared at his face for a long moment. This was the last time I would see him. That fact triggered an acute aching in my chest. Was it because I hated to leave any puzzle unsolved? That did not seem like enough of an explanation.

Finally, I took a deep breath and moved into view.

When Tyler saw me, he started to speak, but I put one finger to my lips.

"Is he sleeping?" I murmured.

Beau's eyes snapped open and focused on my face. They widened momentarily, and then narrowed in anger or suspicion. I remembered that I had a role to play, so I smiled at him as if nothing unusual had happened this morning—besides a blow to his head and a bit of imagination run wild.

"Hey, Edward," Tyler said. "I'm really sorry—"

I raised one hand to halt his apology. "No blood, no foul," I said wryly. Without thinking, I smiled too widely at my private joke.

It was amazingly easy to ignore Tyler, lying no more than four feet from me, covered in fresh blood. I'd never understood how Carlisle was able to do that—ignore the blood of his patients in order to treat them. Wouldn't the constant temptation be so distracting, so dangerous...? But, now... I could see how, if you were focusing on something else hard enough, the temptation was nothing at all.

Even fresh and exposed, Tyler's blood had nothing on Beau's.

I kept my distance from him, seating myself on the foot of Tyler's mattress.

"So, what's the verdict?" I asked him.

He continued to watch me carefully "There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go." He sighed. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

His impatience made me smile again.

I could hear Carlisle in the hall now.

"It's all about who you know," I said lightly. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

I watched his reaction carefully as my father entered the room. His eyes widened and his mouth actually fell open in surprise. I groaned internally. Yes, he'd certainly noticed the resemblance.

"So, Mister Swan, how are you feeling?" Carlisle asked. He had a wonderfully soothing beside manner that put most patients at ease within moments. I couldn't tell how it affected Beau.

"I'm fine," he said quietly.

Carlisle clipped his X-rays to the lightboard by the bed. "Your X-rays look good. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

He sighed, and said, "I'm fine," again. Then he narrowed his eyes at me and I glanced away from his gaze.

Carlisle stepped closer to the boy and ran gentle fingers over his scalp until he found the bump under his hair.

I was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that crashed over me.

I had seen Carlisle work with humans a thousand times. Years ago, I had even assisted him informally—though only in situations where blood was not involved. So it wasn't a new thing to me, to watch him interact with the boy as if he were as human as he was. I'd envied his control many times, but that was not the same as this emotion. I envied him more than his control. I ached for the difference between Carlisle and me— that he could touch him so gently, without fear, knowing he would never harm him...

Beau winced, and I twitched in my seat. I had to concentrate for a moment to keep my relaxed posture.

"Tender?" Carlisle asked.

His chin jerked up a fraction. "Not really," he said.

Another small piece of his character fell into place: he was brave. He didn't like to show weakness.

Possibly the most vulnerable creature I'd ever seen, and he didn't want to seem weak. A chuckle slid through my lips. He shot another glare at me.

"Well," Carlisle said. "Your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

His father was here? I swept through the thoughts in the crowded waiting room, but I couldn't pick his subtle mental voice out of the group before Beau was speaking again, his face anxious.

"Can't I go back to school?"

"Maybe you should take it easy today," Carlisle suggested.

His eyes flickered back to me. "Does he get to go to school?"

Act normal, smooth things over...ignore the way it feels when he looks me in the eye...

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," I said.

"Actually," Carlisle corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

I anticipated his reaction this time—his aversion to attention. He didn't disappoint.

"Oh no," he moaned.

I liked that I'd finally guessed right. I was beginning to understand him...

"Do you want to stay?" Carlisle asked.

"No, no!" he said quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and sliding down till his feet were on the floor. He stumbled forward, off-balance, into Carlisle's arms. He caught and steadied him.

Again, the envy flooded through me.

"I'm fine," the boy said before Carlisle could comment, faint pink in his cheeks. Of course, that wouldn't bother Carlisle. He made sure Beau was balanced, and then dropped his hands.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he instructed.

"It doesn't hurt that bad."

Carlisle smiled as he signed Beau's chart. "It sounds like you were extremely lucky."

Beau turned his face slightly, to stare at me with hard eyes. "Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me."

"Oh, well, yes," Carlisle agreed quickly, hearing the same thing in Beau's voice that I heard. He hadn't written his suspicions off as imagination. Not yet.

All yours, Carlisle thought. Handle it as you think best.

"Thanks so much," I whispered, quick and quiet. Neither human heard me.

Carlisle's lips turned up a tiny bit at my sarcasm as he turned to Tyler. "I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said as he began examining the slashes left by the shattered windshield.

Well, I'd made the mess, so it was only fair that I had to deal with it.

Beau walked deliberately toward me, not stopping until he was uncomfortably close. I remembered how I had hoped, before all the mayhem, that he would approach me... This was like a mockery of that wish.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He whispered under his breath.

His warm breath brushed my face and I had to stagger back a step. His appeal had not abated one bit. Every time he was near me, it triggered all my worst, most urgent instincts. Venom flowed in my mouth and my body yearned to strike—to wrench him into my arms and crush his throat to my teeth.

My mind was stronger than my body, but only just.

"Your father is waiting for you," I reminded him, my jaw clenched tight.

He glanced toward Carlisle and Tyler. Tyler was paying us no attention at all, but Carlisle was monitoring my every breath.

Carefully, Edward.

"I'd like to speak to you alone, if you don't mind," Beau insisted in a low voice.

I wanted to tell him that I did mind very much, but I knew I would have to do this eventually. I may as well get on with it.

I was full of so many conflicting emotions as I stalked out of the room, listening to his stumbling footsteps behind me, trying to keep up.

I had a show to put on now. I knew the role I would play—I had the character down: I would be the villain. I would lie and ridicule and be cruel.

It went against all my better impulses—the human impulses that I'd clung to through all these years. I'd never wanted to deserve trust more than in this moment, when I had to destroy all possibility of it.

It made it worse to know that this would be the last memory he would have of me. This was my farewell scene.

I turned on him.

"What do you want?" I asked coldly.

He cringed back slightly from my hostility. His eyes turned bewildered, the expression that had haunted me...

"You owe me an explanation," he said in a small voice; his ivory face blanched. It was very hard to keep my voice harsh.

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

He flinched—it burned like acid to watch my words hurt him.

"You promised," he whispered. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about."

His chin came up then, and he glared at me defiantly. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

He was angry now, and that made it easier for me. I met his glare, making my face more unfriendly.

"What do you want from me, Beau?"

"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you." What he wanted was only fair—it frustrated me to have to deny him.

"What do you think happened?" I nearly growled at him.

His words poured out in a torrent. "What I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it—and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all—and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up..." Suddenly, he clenched his teeth together and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

I stared at him, my expression derisive, though what I really felt was awe; he had seen everything.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" I asked sarcastically.

He answered with one stiff nod.

My voice grew more mocking. "Nobody will believe that, you know."

His eyes changed then, for the first time the warmth of his silver-gray eyes become ice-cold, they burned me with their intensity, pierced me like silver daggers. When he answered me, he spoke each word with slow deliberation. "I'm not going to tell anybody."

He meant it—I could see that in his brilliant eyes. Even furious and betrayed, he would keep my secret.

Why?

The shock of it ruined my carefully designed expression for half a second, and then I pulled myself together.

"Then why does it matter?" I asked, working to keep my voice severe.

"It matters to me," he said intensely. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

He was asking me to trust him. Just as I wanted him to trust me. But this was a line I could not cross.

My voice stayed callous. "Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," he said, and then he folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case..." I couldn't tell him the truth if I wanted to...and I didn't want to. I'd rather he made up his own story than know what I was, because nothing could be worse than the truth—I was a living nightmare, straight from the pages of a horror novel. "I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other. It was odd how I had thought him so fragile before, perhaps in body he was the most vulnerable creature I'd ever seen, but his spirit was something else. The intensity that radiated from his eyes was staggering. I had never seen anything like it.

"If you were going to be like this about it," he finally spoke, the harsh coldness of his eyes had spread to his voice, "why did you even bother?"

His question wasn't one that I was expecting or prepared to answer. That coupled with the power his eyes seemed to have as they dug into me, I lost my hold on the role I was playing. I felt the mask slip from my face, and I told him—this one time—the truth.

"I don't know."

I memorized his face one last time—it was still cold, and angry. His eyes, like gray diamonds, practically shining with questions—and then I turned and walked away from him.