I sense it as someone slides into the seat next to me, but I don’t release the grip I have on Emmett’s bicep. Then, I hear them speak close to my ear.
“Who died?”
I lift my head slowly from Emmett’s shoulder, because I would know that voice anywhere. Emmett is looking down at me as I look at the person next to me, and everyone in the front row is starting to turn around.
“Edward!” I scream so loudly I think I’ll burst my own eardrums. Without thought I tackle him, throwing my arms around him and plastering his face with kisses. He wraps his arms around me, but something is clearly wrong. His head lolls to the side and his body goes limp, and I just barely stop him from falling to the floor.
Everybody jumps up, several pairs of hands helping me support Edward as Carlisle tries to wake him up. He comes to briefly, and I know my tears must be dripping off my face and onto him.
Someone calls an ambulance, and Edward is rushed to the hospital to be treated for the burns the paramedics find on his back. I don’t know where he’s been or how he got out alive, but I’m going to count my blessings and wait for him to explain.
He’s out for hours. The hospital staff kicks me out more than once while they treat him, debriding his burns again and re-covering everything with heavy dressings. It's obvious he’s been treated somewhere, but I don’t have the chance to ask him where. The nurses in the burn unit inform me that in a few days they’ll do a skin graft, which will resemble a thatched grey material. I’m thankful he’s passed out; other patients on the floor are screaming in pain.
When he does wake, he looks much healthier in the face and eyes. His color is back and his expression isn't as glassy. I’m not sure if I want to interrogate him just yet, but his dad beats me to it.
“Edward, son. What the hell happened?”
Edward looks to me. “Let me tell you everything.”
EPOV
I’ve been on the phone with the FBI almost non-stop since I heard Bella was taken. Their operations plan was approved, and the takedown of Black’s compound at the reservation was waiting on the response from the Sheriff’s SWAT team to join them. I headed home from the office with barely a word to anyone as soon as Sue called me with the news, and I almost drove to the reservation myself. I want my chance to knock Black’s head against the wall until he is no longer a problem to anyone.
I stand up and stretch, feeling sick that Bella is most likely being held prisoner there. But what if he took her to one of his other ‘business’ locations so that the feds would have a harder time finding them? She could be in Port Angeles, or Seattle, or fucking Aberdeen. Not knowing the answers to all the questions is driving me insane.
Seth sent me a text that he was heading over to the reservation to spy for me, but warned me that he wouldn't be able to get back to me while he was there. He couldn’t be caught talking to me, and now I’m going stir crazy.
As I make my way into the kitchen, I smell something off, like someone lit a cigarette in the house, moments before the smoke alarm at the front of the house starts going off shrilly. It’s so loud I cover my ears, dropping to the floor and crawling my way to the back door. All I can think of is making it to the car so I can get away from here. I feel in my pocket for my keys, satisfied that’s where I left them earlier in the day.
I push open the door in time to feel a huge explosion at my back. Everything is suddenly so hot I can't withstand it, pain searing across my back and legs. My crawling turns into a lunge, and as I hit the grass I roll, moving as far away from the house as I can. I make it to the cover of the trees before seeing some asshole come around the side of the house flicking a lighter on and off.
With only a handful of seconds before he sees me, I stumble to my feet and start forcing my way through the thick underbrush toward the road. I catch sight of the idiots that apparently torched my house as they pile into a pickup and tear away from my property. Once they’re out of sight, I stagger into the road to try to flag down a motorist willing to help. I hear sirens in the distance and know that somebody has called emergency services.
All I can focus on is the pain, and my consciousness wanes as I see headlights. I wave in their general direction, hoping to stay awake long enough to get help.
“Sir! Can I help you?” the driver rolls down their window and shouts at me.
I merely nod, shuffling to the passenger side and climbing in.
“Where can I take you?” she asks, a woman with a kind looking face with deep set wrinkles and curly grey hair.
“Bella. Port Angeles,” I gasp.
I don’t remember anything after that, but I wake up feeling groggy and over heated, my skin sticky and bandaged where it was burnt. As I look around the room, it becomes obvious that someone has brought me to a hospital, but I have no idea which one. I have to go, to find Bella and tell her that everything is okay. I feel a little delirious, but I don’t have time to worry about it. I stand, wavering on sore and weak legs, and search for my clothes. I find them on the chair in the corner, and struggle to pull my pants on. The pain is more intense now, and as I tug on the IV line, I see the bag with the morphine drip. Walking over to it, I realize it’s on a lock system and that I won’t get any extra. I sit down for a minute on the edge of the bed, catching my breath and watching the liquid drip excruciatingly slow.
I don’t have time for this. I need to find Bella, to make sure the FBI have gotten her away from Black and his men, and if not, I’m doing it my fucking self. They’ve crossed the line with torching my house. My daughter could have been in there with me; it's a damn good thing I sent her off with my parents when I did. Something else I can credit to Bella. I rip out my IV, giving up any relief for the pain I’m sure will only intensify.
Getting dressed has never been so hard in my life. My back feels like it was scrubbed completely raw, and the backs of my legs practically scream at me every time I move and my pants brush against them. I slip into my shoes, too overwhelmed with pain to lean over and tie them. This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to get to Bella. I need to know that she’s safe and that Black has been put down. That’s all I can focus on right now.
I open the door, glancing up and down the hallway. It's quiet, just a nurse at the desk a few feet away, bent over the computer. I walk quickly away from my room, my head down and my hands in my pockets. I fish out my money clip when I hit the elevator, grateful I left it in my back pocket earlier in the day, especially since I have no idea where my wallet is. When I reach the lobby, I head straight for the doors, ignoring the security guard asking if I need assistance. I wonder what I must look like, or if he realizes I’ve escaped without a doctor’s advice.
I find a short line of cabs further down the curb behind the valet, and I rush over to the first one. When I open the door and the driver asks where I want to go, I suddenly realize I’m not even sure where I am.
“Forks, please.”
“You have any idea how much that’s gonna cost ya?” he replies with a raised eyebrow.
I merely hold out a wad of cash, hoping it'll be enough to satisfy him, sighing in relief when he starts the meter. I tuck the stupid thing back in my shirt pocket because I don’t have the energy to force it back into my pants pocket. It’s bad enough that I’m sitting sideways on the bench seat to avoid any contact with my back and legs. The last thing I see before drifting to sleep is the name, Olympic Memorial Hospital.
I jerk awake to the sound of the driver rapping his knuckles against the plastic divider. “Hey, guy, what address in Forks?”
Groggily, I rattle off Bella’s address in hopes that she’s back home. If not, I’ll figure something else out. I ask the cabbie to wait as I ascend the stairs, feeling like every step is taking me closer to hell. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I have to keep moving much longer, but that cab does not resemble an ambulance.
Using the key I copied a few weeks ago, I go inside and take a look around. It doesn’t appear that she’s been here. The rooms have an uncomfortably stale feeling to them. I look in her bedroom, and her closet looks suspiciously empty. I check her mail, but there's nothing there. Feeling drained and out of options, I head back down to the cab. I ask him to take me to the bank, hoping someone there can help me or that I can at least call my dad from there.
When the car pulls to a stop in front of the bank, I notice that the closed sign is flipped on the door. There's a note taped to it, so I murmur to the driver to please wait one more time as I get out to read it.
Closed for funeral
Thank you for
understanding
I ponder that for a minute, my muddled brain trying to decide who they’d close the whole business for if Mom and Dad are out of town. There are three funeral homes in Forks, so I guess I’m giving the poor cab driver a tour of my hometown.
When there’s two down and one to go, I finally find the one that has a service time listed on the sign out front. Given the time on the dashboard, it's about to start any moment. Dismissing the man, most likely to his utter relief, I stumble my way into the overly perfumed and stuffy building. I hear wailing from one of the rooms, and I’m stunned to realize that it sounds like Bella. I know I only have moments to spare before the pain takes me under again, but I have to get to her. I have to see that she’s safe, and offer what comfort I can for whatever has her so distraught.
As I head down the aisle, I see there are only a few people in the room. Faces that I recognize; coworkers, employees. The Clearwaters, my family.
Emmett? Emmett has his arms around Bella as she keens so sorrowfully it makes my chest ache. There’s no coffin at the front, and my brain is starting to spin, so I drop into the seat next to Bella.
“Who died?”
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