affair with her best friend's sister's boyfriend, though it certainly explained her cagey, bizarre actions before she disappeared. In those last few months, there were stretches when Ali wasn't around for weekends at a time. She'd say she had to go out of town with her parents--surely that was code for time alone with Ian. Or once, when Aria had biked over to Ali's house to surprise her, she'd found Ali sitting on one of the big boulders in her backyard, whispering into her cell phone. "I'll see you this weekend, okay?" Ali was saying. "We can talk about it then." When Aria called out her name, Ali whirled around, startled. "Who are you talking to?" Aria had asked innocently. Ali snapped her phone shut fast, narrowing her eyes. She considered her words for a while, and then said, "So, that girl your dad was kissing? I bet she's like a Girls Gone Wild college girl who throws herself at guys. I mean, she'd have to be pretty ballsy to hook up with her teacher." Aria had turned away, mortified. Ali had been with her the day she'd discovered Byron kissing Meredith, and she wouldn't let it go. Aria was on her bike and halfway home before she realized Ali had never answered her question. "So this is what I want us to do," Sabrina said loudly, interrupting Aria's memories. "Find the person nearest to you, and hold hands. Try to imagine what your neighbor looks like just by the way their hands feel. Then we'll turn the lights on so you can sketch each other's portraits based on what you see in your mind." Aria fumbled in the blue-black darkness. Someone grabbed her hand, feeling her wrist bones and the mounds in her palm. "What sort of face do you see when you touch this person?" Sabrina called. Aria shut her eyes, trying to think. The hand was small and a bit cold and dry. A face began to form in her mind. First the pronounced cheekbones, then the bright blue eyes. Long, blond hair, pink, bow-shaped lips. Aria tightened her stomach. She was thinking of Ali. "Turn away from your partner now," Sabrina instructed. "Get your sketch pads out, and I'm going to turn on the lights. Do not look at your partners. I want you to sketch exactly what you saw in your brain,

and we'll see how close you are to the real thing." The bright overhead lights hurt Aria's eyes as she shakily opened her sketch pad. She tentatively brushed the charcoal across her paper, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't stop from drawing Ali's face. When she stepped back, she felt a huge lump in her throat. There was a whisper of a smile across Ali's lips and a devious sparkle in her eye. "Very nice," said Sabrina--who looked exactly like her voice, with long, knotty brown hair; big boobs; a fleshy stomach; and puny, birdlike legs. She moved on to Aria's partner. "That's beautiful," she murmured. Aria felt a pinch of annoyance. Why wasn't her drawing beautiful? Did someone draw better than she did? Impossible. "Time's up," Sabrina called. "Turn around and show your partners the results." Aria slowly turned, her eyes greedily assessing her partner's allegedly beautiful sketch. And actually...it was beautiful. The drawing looked nothing like Aria, but it still was a much better rendering of a person than Aria could have done. Aria's eyes floated up her partner's body. The girl wore a fitted pink Nanette Lepore top. Her hair was dark and wild, spilling down her shoulders. She had creamy, blemish-free skin. Then, Aria saw the familiar turned-up button nose. And the giant Gucci sunglasses. There was a sleeping dog in a blue canvas vest at the girl's feet. Aria's entire body turned to ice. "I can't see what you drew of me," her partner said in a soft, sweet voice. She pointed to her Seeing Eye dog in explanation. "But I'm sure it's great." Aria's tongue felt leaden in her mouth. Her partner was Jenna Cavanaugh. 11 WELCOME BACK...SORT OF After what seemed like days of spinning through the stars, Hanna suddenly found herself thrust into the light again. Once more, she was sitting on Ali's back porch. Once more, she could feel herself busting out of her American Apparel T-shirt and Seven jeans. "We get to have our sleepover in Melissa's barn!" Spencer was saying.

Abby's mouth settled into an upside-down U. "She never catches us. So you must have done something to get her attention." "I didn't do anything," Emily said helplessly. "I swear." "And now, because of you, we're going to be stuck in lockdown for months." Abby rolled her eyes. "And for the record, Trista Taylor is a huge slut. She tries to hump anything that moves--guy or girl." Emily backed up, at a loss for words. She grabbed her bag and sprinted down the front walk. When she came to the cattle gate, that same goat was still tethered to the metal post, the bell clanging softly around her neck. The rope didn't offer enough slack for her to lie down, and it looked like Helene hadn't even put out water for her. When Emily looked into the goat's yellow eyes and odd, square pupils, she felt a connection--scapegoat to "bad" goat. She knew what it was like to be cruelly, unjustly punished. Emily took a deep breath and slid the rope off the goat's neck, then opened the cattle guard and waved her arms. "Go, girl," she whispered. "Shoo." The goat glanced at Emily, her lips pursed. She took one step forward, then another. Once she crossed the cattle guard, she broke into a trot, waddling down the road. She seemed happy to be free. Emily slammed the cattle guard shut behind her. She was pretty damn happy to be free of this place, too. 10 ABOUT AS FAR FROM MINDLESS AS ARIA COULD GET The clouds rolled in on Monday afternoon, darkening the sky and bringing winds that ripped through Rosewood's yellow-leafed sugar maples. Aria pulled her strawberry-colored merino wool beret down over her ears and scampered into the Frank Lloyd Wright Memorial Visual Arts Building at Hollis College for her very first Mindless Art class. The lobby walls were full of student exhibits, announcements for art sales, and want ads for housemates. Aria noticed a flyer that said, HAVE YOU SEEN THE ROSEWOOD STALKER? There was a Xeroxed photograph of a figure looming in the woods, as blurry and

cryptic as the murky shots of the Loch Ness Monster. Last week, there had been all sorts of news reports on the Rosewood Stalker, who was following people around, spying on their every move. But Aria hadn't heard any stalker news for a few days now...about the same amount of time that A had been silent. The elevator was out of service, so Aria climbed the cold, gray concrete stairs to the second floor. She located her Mindless Art classroom and was surprised to find it silent and dark. A jagged shape flickered against the window on the far side of the room, and as Aria's eyes adjusted, she realized the room was full. "Come in," called a woman's husky voice. Aria felt her way to the back wall. The old Hollis building creaked and groaned. Someone near her smelled like menthol and garlic. Someone else smelled like cigarettes. She heard a giggle. "I believe we're all here," the voice called out. "My name is Sabrina. Welcome to Mindless Art. Now, you're all probably wondering why we're standing here with the lights off. Art is about seeing, right? Well, guess what? It isn't, not entirely. Art is also touching and smelling...and most definitely feeling. But mostly, it's about letting go. It's about taking everything you thought was true and throwing it out the window. It's about embracing life's unpredictability, letting go of boundaries, and starting over." Aria stifled a yawn. Sabrina had a slow, soporific voice that made her want to curl up and close her eyes. "The lights are off for a little exercise," Sabrina said. "We all form an image of someone in our heads, based on certain easy clues. The way one's voice sounds, maybe. The type of music someone likes. The things you know about a person's past, perhaps. But sometimes, our judgments aren't right; in fact, sometimes they're quite wrong." Years ago, Aria and Ali used to go to Saturday art classes together. If Ali were in this class with her now, she'd roll her eyes and say that Sabrina was a flaky granola-head with hairy armpits. But Aria thought what Sabrina was saying made sense--especially in regard to Ali. These days, everything Aria thought she'd known about Ali was wrong. Aria would never have imagined Ali was having a secret

disappointment on his lined, weathered face. Helene leaned against the stove, equally stern. Emily looked nervously from Matt to John to Abby, but not one of them returned her gaze. "So." Helene started pacing around the room, her square-toed shoes clacking against the plank floor. "We know what the four of you did last night." Emily sank into a chair, heat creeping into her cheeks. Her heart began to pound. "I want to know whose idea this was." Helene circled the table like a hawk zeroing in on her prey. "Who wanted to hang out with those public school kids? Who thought it was okay to drink alcohol?" Abby poked at a lone Cheerio in her bowl. John scratched his chin. Emily kept her lips pasted together. She certainly wasn't going to say anything. She and her cousins would form a bond of solidarity, keeping quiet for the benefit of all. It was how Emily, Ali, and the others had operated years ago, on the rare occasion that someone actually caught them doing something. "Well?" Helene said sharply. Abby's chin shook. "It was Emily," she exploded. "She threatened me, Mom. She knew about the public school party and demanded that I take her to it. I took John and Matt along so we'd be safe." "What?" Emily gasped. She felt like Abby had smacked her in the chest with the large wooden cross that hung over the doorway. "That's not true! How would I have known about some party? I don't know anyone but you!" Helene looked disgusted. "Boys? Was it Emily?" Matt and John stared at their cereal bowls and nodded slowly. Emily looked around the table, too angry and betrayed to breathe. She wanted to shout out what had really happened. Matt had done body shots from a girl's navel. John had danced to Chingy in his boxers. Abby had made out with five guys and possibly a cow. Her limbs began to shake. Why were they doing this? Weren't they her friends? "None of you seemed very upset to be there!" "That's a lie!" Abby shrieked. "We were all very upset!" Allen pulled at Emily's shoulder, jolting her back to her feet in a forceful, manhandling way Emily had

never felt in her life. "This isn't going to work," he said in a low voice, bringing his face close to hers. He smelled like coffee and something organic, perhaps soil. "You're no longer welcome here." Emily took a step back, her heart sinking to her feet. "What?" "We did your parents a big favor," Helene growled. "They said you were a handful, but we never expected this." She pushed the ON button of the cordless phone. "I'm calling them now. We'll drive you back to the airport, but they'll have to figure out a way to pay for you to get home. And they'll have to decide what to do with you." Emily felt all five pairs of Weaver eyes on her. She willed herself not to cry, taking big, gulping breaths of the stale farmhouse air. Her cousins had betrayed her. None of them were on her side. No one was. She turned around and fled up to the little bedroom. Once there, she threw her clothes back into her swim bag. Most of her clothes still smelled like home--a mix of Snuggle fabric softener and her mom's homey cooking spices. She was glad they would never smell like this horrible place. Just before zipping the duffel closed, she paused. Helene was probably calling her parents, telling them everything. She pictured her mother standing in her kitchen in Rosewood, holding the phone to her ear and saying, "Please don't send Emily back here. Our life is perfect without her." Emily's vision blurred with tears, and her heart literally hurt. No one wanted her. And what would Helene's next option be? Would she try to ship Emily off somewhere else? Military school? A convent? Did those still exist? "I have to get out of here," Emily whispered to the cold, spare room. Her cell phone was still lying at the bottom of the swear jar in the hall. The lid came off easily, and no alarm sounded. She dropped the phone into her pocket, grabbed her bags, and crept down the stairs. If she could just get off the Weaver property, she was pretty sure there was a minuscule grocery store about a mile down the road. She could plan her next move from there. When she burst out onto the front porch, she almost didn't notice Abby curled up on the chain-link porch swing. Emily was so startled she dropped her duffel on her feet.

"Melissa knew all this time but never said anything?" Aria ran her hands along the edge of her chin. "That's weird." She thought of A's three clues about Ali's killer: that she was close by, that she wanted something Ali had, and that she knew every inch of the DiLaurentises' yard. All three clues together only applied to a handful of people. If Melissa knew about Ali and Ian, then maybe she was one of them. "Should we tell the cops about Ian and Ali?" Spencer suggested. Aria wrung her hands together. "I mentioned it to Wilden." A flush of surprise passed over Spencer's face. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Is that okay?" Aria asked, raising an eyebrow. "Of course," Spencer said briskly, regaining composure. "So...do you think we should tell him about A?" Aria widened her eyes. "If we do, A might..." She trailed off, feeling nauseated. Spencer stared at Aria for a long time. "A's completely running our lives," she whispered. Hanna was still immobile in her bed. Aria wondered if she really could hear them, just like Lucas said. Perhaps she'd heard everything they'd just said about A and wanted to tell them what she knew, only she was trapped inside her coma. Or maybe she'd heard everything they'd said and was disgusted that they were talking about this instead of fretting over whether Hanna would ever wake up. Aria smoothed the sheets over Hanna's chest, tucking them up to her chin like Ella used to do when Aria had the flu. Then, a flickering reflection in the little window behind Hanna's bed caught her eye. Aria straightened, her nerves jangling. It looked like someone outside Hanna's partition was lurking next to an empty wheelchair, trying not to be seen. She whipped around, her heart racing, and pulled back the curtain. "What?" Spencer cried, turning around too. Aria took a deep breath. "Nothing." Whoever it was had vanished. 9 IT'S NO FUN BEING THE SCAPEGOAT

Light streamed into Emily's eyes. She hugged her pillow and sank back into sleep. Rosewood's morning sounds were as predictable as the sunrise--the barking of the Kloses' dog as they set off on their walk around the block, the rumbling of the garbage truck, the sounds of the Today show, which her mother watched every morning, and the crowing of the rooster. Her eyes sprang open. A rooster? The room smelled like hay and vodka. Abby's bed was empty. Since the cousins had wanted to stay longer at last night's party than Emily did, Trista had dropped her off at the Weavers' gate. Maybe Abby hadn't come home yet--the last she'd seen of Abby at the party, she'd been all over a guy who wore a University of Iowa T-shirt that featured a big, scowling Herky the Hawk mascot on the back. When she turned her head, she saw her aunt Helene standing in the doorway. Emily screamed and pulled the sheets around her. Helene was already dressed in a long patchwork jumper and a ruffle-edged T-shirt. Her glasses teetered precariously on the end of her nose. "I see you're up," she said. "Please come downstairs." Emily rolled out of bed slowly, pulling on a shirt, a pair of Rosewood Day Swim Team pajama pants, and argyle socks. The rest of the previous night rushed back to her, as comforting as sinking into a long, hot bath. Emily and Trista had spent the rest of the night making up a crazy square dance, and a bunch of the boys had joined in. They'd talked nonstop on the drive back to the Weavers' house, even though both of them were exhausted. Before Emily got out of the car, Trista had touched the inside of Emily's wrist. "I'm glad I met you," Trista whispered. And Emily was glad too. John, Matt, and Abby were at the kitchen table, staring sleepily at their bowls of Cheerios. A plate of pancakes sat in the middle of the table. "Hey, guys," Emily said cheerfully. "Is there anything for breakfast other than Cheerios or pancakes?" "I don't think breakfast should be your main concern right now, Emily." Emily turned, her blood running cold. Uncle Allen stood at the counter, his posture stiff, a look of

"Sort of," Lucas whispered. "Or fitting." He gave Aria a smirk and padded away. As he smacked the automatic door button and walked out of the ICU ward, Aria smiled. She liked Lucas. He seemed as jaded about pretentious Rosewood bullshit as she was. And he certainly was a good friend. Aria had no idea how he was able to miss so much school to stay with Hanna, but it was nice that someone was with her. Aria reached out and touched Hanna's hand, and Hanna's fingers curled around hers. Aria pulled away, startled, then chastised herself. It wasn't like Hanna was dead. It wasn't like Aria had squeezed a corpse's hand and the corpse had squeezed back. "Okay, I can be there this afternoon, and we can go through the candids together," a voice said behind her. "Is that doable?" Aria whirled around, nearly falling off her chair. Spencer hit the OFF button on her Sidekick and gave Aria an apologetic smile. "Sorry." She rolled her eyes. "Yearbook can't do anything without me." She looked at Hanna, paling a bit. "I came here as soon as my free period started. How's she doing?" Aria cracked her knuckles so hard, her thumb joint made a disconcerting pop. It was amazing that in the middle of all this, Spencer still ran eight thousand committees and had even found time to be on the front page of yesterday's Philadelphia Sentinel. Even though Wilden had more or less exonerated Spencer, there was still something about her that gave Aria pause. "Where have you been?" Aria asked sharply. Spencer took a step back, as if Aria had shoved her. "I had to go away with my parents. To New Jersey. I came as soon as I could." "Did you get A's note on Saturday?" Aria demanded. "She knew too much?" Spencer nodded but didn't speak. She flicked the tassels of her tweed Kate Spade bag and looked warily at all of Hanna's electronic medical devices. "Did Hanna tell you who it is?" Aria goaded. Spencer frowned. "Who who is?"

"A." Spencer still looked confused, and an edgy feeling gnawed at Aria's gut. "Hanna knew who A was, Spencer." She looked at Spencer carefully. "Hanna didn't tell you why she wanted to meet?" "No." Spencer's voice cracked. "She just said she had something important to tell me." She let out a long breath. Aria thought of Spencer's cagey, crazy eyes peeping out from the woods behind Rosewood Day. "I saw you, you know," she blurted out. "I saw you in the woods on Saturday. You were just...standing there. What were you doing?" The pigment disappeared from Spencer's face. "I was scared," she whispered. "I'd never seen anything so scary in my whole life. I couldn't believe that someone would actually do that to Hanna." Spencer looked terrified. All of a sudden, Aria felt her suspicion seep out of her. She wondered what Spencer would think if she knew Aria had thought Spencer was Ali's killer, and had even shared that theory with Wilden. She recalled Wilden's judging words: Is this what you girls do? Blame your old friends for murder? Maybe Wilden was right: Spencer might have starred in some of the school plays, but she wasn't a good enough actress to have killed Ali, traipsed back to the barn, and convinced her remaining best friends that she was as innocent, clueless, and scared as they all were. "I can't believe anyone would do that to Hanna either," Aria said quietly. She sighed. "So, I figured something out Saturday night. I think...I think Ali and Ian Thomas were dating, back when we were in seventh grade." Spencer's mouth fell open. "I figured that out Saturday, too." "You didn't already know?" Aria scratched her head, thrown off guard. Spencer took another step into the room. She kept her eyes fixed on the clear liquid that filled Hanna's IV bag. "No." "Do you think anyone else knew?" An indescribable expression crossed Spencer's face. Talking about all this seemed to make her really uncomfortable. "I think my sister did."

He carried only his rifle,

Once again Bess bade Venters farewell under the shadow of Balancing Rock, and this time it was with whispered hope and tenderness and passionate trust. Long after he had left her, all down through the outlet to the Pass, the clinging clasp of her arms, the sweetness of her lips, and the sense of a new and exquisite birth of character in her remained hauntingly and thrillingly in his mind. The girl who had sadly called herself nameless and nothing had been marvelously transformed in the moment of his avowal of love. It was something to think over, something to warm his heart, but for the present it had absolutely to be forgotten so that all his mind could be addressed to the trip so fraught with danger.

He carried only his rifle, revolver, and a small quantity of bread and meat, and thus lightly burdened, he made swift progress down the slope and out into the valley. Darkness was coming on, and he welcomed it. Stars were blinking when he reached his old hiding-place in the split of canyon wall, and by their aid he slipped through the dense thickets to the grassy enclosure. Wrangle stood in the center of it with his head up, and he appeared black and of gigantic proportions in the dim light. Venters whistled softly, began a slow approach, and then called. The horse snorted and, plunging away with dull, heavy sound of hoofs, he disappeared in the gloom. "Wilder than ever!" muttered Venters. He followed the sorrel into the narrowing split between the walls, and presently had to desist because he could not see a foot in advance. As he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony shadow of cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into the starlit glade. Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night would be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had hidden saddle and blanket, and there went to sleep.

The first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light enough to distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went out to rope the sorrel. He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove and approached him in a perfectly natural manner. When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized him, but was too wild to stand. He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane between the walls. This favored Venters's speedy capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to within a hundred feet and then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had time to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and dragged him several yards before halting.

"You wild devil," said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. "Don't you know me? Come now--old fellow--so--so--"

"Oh! Listen! Bess!"

"Yes.

"Listen!...You great, simple child! Listen...You sweet, wonderful, wild, blue-eyed girl! I was tortured by my secret. It was that I knew we--we must leave the valley. We can't stay here much longer. I couldn't think how we'd get away--out of the country--or how we'd live, if we ever got out. I'm a beggar. That's why I kept my secret. I'm poor. It takes money to make way beyond Sterling. We couldn't ride horses or burros or walk forever. So while I knew we must go, I was distracted over how to go and what to do. Now! We've gold! Once beyond Sterling, well be safe from rustlers. We've no others to fear.

"Oh! Listen! Bess!" Venters now heard his voice ringing high and sweet, and he felt Bess's cold hands in his crushing grasp as she leaned toward him pale, breathless. "This is how much I'd leave you! You made me live again! I'll take you away--far away from this wild country. You'll begin a new life. You'll be happy. You shall see cities, ships, people. You shall have anything your heart craves. All the shame and sorrow of your life shall be forgotten--as if they had never been. This is how much I'd leave you here alone--you sad-eyed girl. I love you! Didn't you know it? How could you fail to know it? I love you! I'm free! I'm a man a man you've made--no more a beggar!...Kiss me! This is how much I'd leave you here alone--you beautiful, strange, unhappy girl. But I'll make you happy. What--what do I care for--your past! I love you! I'll take you home to Illinois--to my mother. Then I'll take you to far places. I'll make up all you've lost. Oh, I know you love me--knew it before you told me. And it changed my life. And you'll go with me, not as my companion as you are here, nor my sister, but, Bess, darling!...As my wife!"



CHAPTER XVII. WRANGLE'S RACE RUN

The plan eventually decided upon by the lovers was for Venters to go to the village, secure a horse and some kind of a disguise for Bess, or at least less striking apparel than her present garb, and to return post-haste to the valley. Meanwhile, she would add to their store of gold. Then they would strike the long and perilous trail to ride out of Utah. In the event of his inability to fetch back a horse for her, they intended to make the giant sorrel carry double. The gold, a little food, saddle blankets, and Venters's guns were to compose the light outfit with which they would make the start.

"I love this beautiful place," said Bess. "It's hard to think of leaving it."

"Hard! Well, I should think so," replied Venters. "Maybe--in years--" But he did not complete in words his thought that might be possible to return after many years of absence and change.

"Gold!" he ejaculated.

"Fooling? Look here!" With deft fingers she spread open the black scarf, and the bright sun shone upon a dull, glittering heap of gold.

"Gold!" he ejaculated.

"Yes, gold! See, pounds of gold! I found it--washed it out of the stream--picked it out grain by grain, nugget by nugget!"

"Gold!" he cried.

"Yes. Now--now laugh at my secret!"

For a long minute Venters gazed. Then he stretched forth a hand to feel if the gold was real.

"Gold!" he almost shouted. "Bess, there are hundreds--thousands of dollars' worth here!"

He leaned over to her, and put his hand, strong and clenching now, on hers.

"Is there more where this came from?" he whispered.

"Plenty of it, all the way up the stream to the cliff. You know I've often washed for gold. Then I've heard the men talk. I think there's no great quantity of gold here, but enough for--for a fortune for you."

"That--was--your--secret! "

"Yes. I hate gold. For it makes men mad. I've seen them drunk with joy and dance and fling themselves around. I've seen them curse and rave. I've seen them fight like dogs and roll in the dust. I've seen them kill each other for gold."

"Is that why you hated to tell me?"

"Not--not altogether." Bess lowered her head. "It was because I knew you'd never stay here long after you found gold."

"You were afraid I'd leave you?"

You can't look at me and lie

"You can't look at me and lie," he said. "Now--what's wrong with you? You're keeping something from me. Well, I've got a secret, too, and I intend to tell it presently."

"Oh--I have a secret. I was crazy to tell you when you came back. That's why I was so silly about everything. I kept holding my secret back--gloating over it. But when Lassiter came I got an idea--that changed my mind. Then I hated to tell you."

"Are you going to now?"

"Yes--yes. I was coming to it. I tried yesterday, but you were so cold. I was afraid. I couldn't keep it much longer."

"Very well, most mysterious lady, tell your wonderful secret."

"You needn't laugh," she retorted, with a first glimpse of reviving spirit. "I can take the laugh out of you in one second."

"It's a go."

She ran through the spruces to the cave, and returned carrying something which was manifestly heavy. Upon nearer view he saw that whatever she held with such evident importance had been bound up in a black scarf he well remembered. That alone was sufficient to make him tingle with curiosity.

"Have you any idea what I did in your absence?" she asked.

"I imagine you lounged about, waiting and watching for me," he replied, smiling. "I've my share of conceit, you know."

"You're wrong. I worked. Look at my hands." She dropped on her knees close to where he sat, and, carefully depositing the black bundle, she held out her hands. The palms and inside of her fingers were white, puckered, and worn.

"Why, Bess, you've been fooling in the water," he said.

In that measure,

Lassiter's visit, moreover, had a disquieting effect upon Bess, and Venters fancied that she entertained the same thought as to future seclusion. The breaking of their solitude, though by a well-meaning friend, had not only dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of fear. Both had seen the footprint in the sand.

Venters did no more work that day. Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and the canyon bird whistled its melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the cliffs, and the camp-fire blazed and burned down to red embers. To Venters a subtle difference was apparent in all of these, or else the shadowy change had been in him. He hoped that on the morrow this slight depression would have passed away.

In that measure, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Furthermore, Bess reverted to a wistful sadness that he had not observed in her since her recovery. His attempt to cheer her out of it resulted in dismal failure, and consequently in a darkening of his own mood. Hard work relieved him; still, when the day had passed, his unrest returned. Then he set to deliberate thinking, and there came to him the startling conviction that he must leave Surprise Valley and take Bess with him. As a rider he had taken many chances, and as an adventurer in Deception Pass he had unhesitatingly risked his life, but now he would run no preventable hazard of Bess's safety and happiness, and he was too keen not to see that hazard. It gave him a pang to think of leaving the beautiful valley just when he had the means to establish a permanent and delightful home there. One flashing thought tore in hot temptation through his mind--why not climb up into the gorge, roll Balancing Rock down the trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass? "That was the beast in me--showing his teeth!" muttered Venters, scornfully. "I'll just kill him good and quick! I'll be fair to this girl, if it's the last thing I do on earth!"

Another day went by, in which he worked less and pondered more and all the time covertly watched Bess. Her wistfulness had deepened into downright unhappiness, and that made his task to tell her all the harder. He kept the secret another day, hoping by some chance she might grow less moody, and to his exceeding anxiety she fell into far deeper gloom. Out of his own secret and the torment of it he divined that she, too, had a secret and the keeping of it was torturing her. As yet he had no plan thought out in regard to how or when to leave the valley, but he decided to tell her the necessity of it and to persuade her to go. Furthermore, he hoped his speaking out would induce her to unburden her own mind.

"Bess, what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered, with averted face.

Venters took hold of her gently, though masterfully, forced her to meet his eyes.

There was an indefinite

I stared back at him, frozen on the sidewalk.

"Bella?" Jess whispered. "What are you doing?"

I shook my head, not sure myself. "I think I know them…" I muttered.

What was I doing? I should be running from this memory as fast as I could, blocking the image of the
four lounging men from my mind, protecting myself with the numbness I couldn't function without. Why
was I stepping, dazed, into the street?

It seemed too coincidental that I should be in Port Angeles with Jessica, on a dark street even. My eyes
focused on the short one, trying to match the features to my memory of the man who had threatened me
that night almost a year ago. I wondered if there was any way I would recognize the man, if it was really
him. That particular part of that particular evening was just a blur. My body remembered it better than my
mind did; the tension in my legs as I tried to decide whether to run or to stand my ground, the dryness in
my throat as I struggled to build a decent scream, the tight stretch of skin across my knuckles as I
clenched my hands into fists, the chills on the back of my neck when the dark-haired man called me
"sugar."…

There was an indefinite, implied kind of menace to these men that had nothing to do with that other night.
It sprung from the fact that they were strangers, and it was dark here, and they outnumbered us—nothing
more specific than that. But it was enough that Jessica's voice cracked in panic as she called after me.

"Bella, come on!"

I ignored her, walking slowly forward without ever making the conscious decision to move my feet. I
didn't understand why, but the nebulous threat the men presented drew me toward them. It was a
senseless impulse, but I hadn't felt any kind of impulse in so long… I followed it.

Something unfamiliar beat through my veins. Adrenaline, I realized, long absent from my system,
drumming my pulse faster and fighting against the lack of sensation. It was strange—why the adrenaline
when there was no fear? It was almost as if it were an echo of the last time I'd stood like this, on a dark
street in Port Angeles with strangers.

I glanced around myself for the first time.

"Where do you want to eat?" Jess asked.

"I don't care."

"Okay."

Jess started talking about the male lead in the movie as we walked. I nodded as she gushed over his
hotness, unable to remember seeing a non-zombie man at all.

I didn't watch where Jessica was leading me. I was only vaguely aware that it was dark and quieter now.
It took me longer than it should have to realize why it was quiet. Jessica had stopped babbling. I looked
at her apologetically, hoping I hadn't hurt her feelings.

Jessica wasn't looking at me. Her face was tense; she stared straight ahead and walked fast. As I
watched, her eyes darted quickly to the right, across the road, and back again.

I glanced around myself for the first time.

We were on a short stretch of unlit sidewalk. The little shops lining the street were all locked up for the
night, windows black. Half a block ahead, the streetlights started up again, and I could see, farther down,
the bright golden arches of the McDonald's she was heading for.

Across the street there was one open business. The windows were covered from inside and there were
neon signs, advertisements for different brands of beer, glowing in front of them. The biggest sign, in
brilliant green, was the name of the bar—One-Eyed Pete's. I wondered if there was some pirate theme
not visible from outside. The metal door was propped open; it was dimly lit inside, and the low murmur
of many voices and the sound of ice clinking in glasses floated across the street. Lounging against the wall
beside the door were four men.

I glanced back at Jessica. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead and she moved briskly. She didn't look

frightened—just wary, trying to not attract attention to herself.

I paused without thinking, looking back at the four men with a strong sense of déjà vu. This was a
different road, a different night, but the scene was so much the same. One of them was even short and
dark. As I stopped and turned toward them, that one looked up in interest.

Was the movie too scary for you?

And I realized which one resembled me the most.

I stood up.

"Where are you going? There's, like, two minutes left," Jess hissed.

"I need a drink," I muttered as I raced for the exit.

I sat down on the bench outside the theater door and tried very hard not to think of the irony. But it was
ironic, all things considered, that, in the end, I would wind up as a zombie. I hadn't seen that one coming.

Not that I hadn't dreamed of becoming a mythical monster once—just never a grotesque, animated
corpse. I shook my head to dislodge that train of thought, feeling panicky. I couldn't afford to think about
what I'd once dreamed of.

It was depressing to realize that I wasn't the heroine anymore, that my story was over.

Jessica came out of the theater doors and hesitated, probably wondering where the best place was to
search for me. When she saw me, she looked relieved, but only for a moment. Then she looked irritated.

"Was the movie too scary for you?" she wondered.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess I'm just a coward."

"That's funny." She frowned. "I didn't think you were scared—I was screaming all the time, but I didn't
hear you scream once. So I didn't know why you left."

I shrugged. "Just scared."

She relaxed a little. "That was the scariest movie I think I've ever seen. I'll bet we're going to have
nightmares tonight."

"No doubt about that," I said, trying to keep my voice normal. It was inevitable that I would have
nightmares, but they wouldn't be about zombies. Her eyes flashed to my face and away. Maybe I hadn't
succeeded with the normal voice.

I'm getting popcorn.

The movie was playing early, so Jess thought we should hit the twilight showing and eat later. I was
happy to go along with whatever she wanted; after all, I was getting what I wanted—Charlie off my
back.

I kept Jess talking through the previews, so I could ignore them more easily. But I got nervous when the
movie started. A young couple was walking along a beach, swinging hands and discussing their mutual
affection with gooey falseness. I resisted the urge to cover my ears and start humming. I had not
bargained for a romance.

"I thought we picked the zombie movie," I hissed to Jessica.

"This is the zombie movie."

"Then why isn't anyone getting eaten?" I asked desperately.

She looked at me with wide eyes that were almost alarmed. "I'm sure that part's coming," she whispered.

"I'm getting popcorn. Do you want any?"

"No, thanks."

Someone shushed us from behind.

I took my time at the concession counter, watching the clock and debating what percentage of a
ninety-minute movie could be spent on romantic exposition. I decided ten minutes was more than enough,
but I paused just inside the theater doors to be sure. I could hear horrified screams blaring from the
speakers, so I knew I'd waited long enough.

"You missed everything," Jess murmured when I slid back into my seat. "Almost everyone is a zombie
now."

"Long line." I offered her some popcorn. She took a handful.

The rest of the movie was comprised of gruesome zombie attacks and endless screaming from the
handful of people left alive, their numbers dwindling quickly. I would have thought there was nothing in
that to disturb me. But I felt uneasy, and I wasn't sure why at first.

It wasn't until almost the very end, as I watched a haggard zombie shambling after the last shrieking
survivor, that I realized what the problem was. The scene kept cutting between the horrified face of the
heroine, and the dead, emotionless face of her pursuer, back and forth as it closed the distance.

ou like this?

Her eyes squinted. "Since when do you listen to rap?"

"I don't know," I said. "A while."

"You like this?" she asked doubtfully.

"Sure."

It would be much too hard to interact with Jessica normally if I had to work to tune out the music, too. I
nodded my head, hoping I was in time with the beat.

"Okay…" She stared out the windshield with wide eyes.

"So what's up with you and Mike these days?" I asked quickly.

"You see him more than I do."

The question hadn't started her talking like I'd hoped it would.

"It's hard to talk at work," I mumbled, and then I tried again. "Have you been out with anyone lately?"

"Not really. I go out with Conner sometimes. I went out with Eric two weeks ago." She rolled her eyes,
and I sensed a long story. I clutched at the opportunity.

"Eric Yorkie? Who asked who?"

She groaned, getting more animated. "He did, of course! I couldn't think of a nice way to say no."

"Where did he take you?" I demanded, knowing she would interpret my eagerness as interest. "Tell me
all about it."

She launched into her tale, and I settled into my seat, more comfortable now. I paid strict attention,

murmuring in sympathy and gasping in horror as called for. When she was finished with her Eric story,
she continued into a Conner comparison without any prodding.

I had the pleasure...

　　"That's unavoidable; our national railways are of terrible length.'Mother Russia,' as they say, is a vast country.... In spite of all mydesire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust allpassed off without inconvenience?"

　　"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening,"Pulcheria Alexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation,"and if Dmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe byGod Himself, we should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! DmitriProkofitch Razumihin," she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

　　"I had the pleasure... yesterday," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch witha hostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and wassilent.

　　Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surfacevery polite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, butwho, directly they are crossed in anything, are completelydisconcerted, and become more like sacks of flour than elegant andlively men of society. Again all was silent; Raskolnikov wasobstinately mute, Avdotya Romanovna was unwilling to open theconversation too soon. Razumihin had nothing to say, so PulcheriaAlexandrovna was anxious again.

　　"Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?" she began havingrecourse to her leading item of conversation.

　　"To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed, and I have cometo make you acquainted with the fact that Arkady IvanovitchSvidrigailov set off in haste for Petersburg immediately after hiswife's funeral. So at least I have excellent authority for believing."

　　"To Petersburg? here?" Dounia asked in alarm and looked at hermother.

　　"Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without some design, having inview the rapidity of his departure, and all the circumstancespreceding it."

　　"Good heavens! won't he leave Dounia in peace even here?" criedPulcheria Alexandrovna.

　　"I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any groundsfor uneasiness, unless, of course, you are yourselves desirous ofgetting into communication with him. For my part I am on my guard, andam now discovering where he is lodging."

　　"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright youhave given me," Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on. "I've only seen himtwice, but I thought him terrible, terrible! I am convinced that hewas the cause of Marfa Petrovna's death."

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin;

　　"Now let me tell you my story," he began, "I came to you, you wereasleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametov wasstill with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn'tspeak in the right way. They don't seem to understand and can'tunderstand, but are not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window,and began talking to him, but it was still no use. He looked awayand I looked away. At last I shook my fist in his ugly face, andtold him as a cousin I'd brain him. He merely looked at me, I cursedand came away. That was all. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn'tsay a word. But, you see, I thought I'd made a mess of it, but as Iwent downstairs a brilliant idea struck me: why should we trouble?Of course if you were in any danger or anything, but why need youcare? You needn't care a hang for them. We shall have a laugh atthem afterwards, and if I were in your place I'd mystify them morethan ever. How ashamed they'll be afterwards! Hang them! We can thrashthem afterwards, but let's laugh at them now!"

　　"To be sure," answered Raskolnikov. "But what will you sayto-morrow?" he thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment ithad never occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when heknew. As he thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin's accountof his visit to Porfiry had very little interest for him, so muchhad come and gone since then.

　　In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctuallyat eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went intogether without greeting or looking at one another. The young menwalked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingereda little in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovnacame forward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcomingher brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though withredoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, asthough he were a little put out and could not yet recover himself.Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastenedto make them all sit down at the round table where a samovar wasboiling. Dounia and Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sidesof the table. Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing PulcheriaAlexandrovna, Razumihin was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov wasbeside his sister.

　　A moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drewout a cambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose withan air of a benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmlyresolved to insist on an explanation. In the passage the idea hadoccurred to him to keep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give thetwo ladies a sharp and emphatic lesson and make them feel thegravity of the position. But he could not bring himself to do this.Besides, he could not endure uncertainty and he wanted an explanation:if his request had been so openly disobeyed, there was somethingbehind it, and in that case it was better to find it out beforehand;it rested with him to punish them and there would always be time forthat.

　　"I trust you had a favourable journey," he inquired officially ofPulcheria Alexandrovna.

　　"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch."

　　"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not overfatigued either?"

　　"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but it was a great strainfor mother," answered Dounia.

"I don't know."

　　"It was Svidrigailov, that landowner in whose house my sister wasinsulted when she was their governess. Through his persecuting herwith his attentions, she was turned out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna.This Marfa Petrovna begged Dounia's forgiveness afterwards, andshe's just died suddenly. It was of her we were talking thismorning. I don't know why I'm afraid of that man. He came here at onceafter his wife's funeral. He is very strange, and is determined ondoing something.... We must guard Dounia from him... that's what Iwanted to tell you, do you hear?"

　　"Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanovna? Thank you,Rodya, for speaking to me like that.... We will, we will guard her.Where does he live?"

　　"I don't know."

　　"Why didn't you ask? What a pity! I'll find out, though."

　　"Did you see him?" asked Raskolnikov after a pause.

　　"Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well."

　　"You did really see him? You saw him clearly?" Raskolnikov insisted.

　　"Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a thousand; Ihave a good memory for faces."

　　They were silent again.

　　"Hm!... that's all right," muttered Raskolnikov. "Do you know, Ifancied... I keep thinking that it may have been an hallucination."

　　"What do you mean? I don't understand you."

　　"Well, you all say," Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth intoa smile, "that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really ammad, and have only seen a phantom."

　　"What do you mean?"

　　"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhapseverything that happened all these days may be only imagination."

　　"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... But what did he say, whatdid he come for?"

　　Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute.

Why, on that 'journey'

　　"Oh, all right. Are you starting soon on your travels, may I ask?"

　　"What travels?"

　　"Why, on that 'journey'; you spoke of it yourself."

　　"A journey? Oh, yes. I did speak of a journey. Well, that's a widesubject.... if only you knew what you are asking," he added, andgave a sudden, loud, short laugh. "Perhaps I'll get married instead ofthe journey. They're making a match for me."

　　"Here?"

　　"Yes."

　　"How have you had time for that?"

　　"But I am very anxious to see Avdotya Romanovna once. I earnestlybeg it. Well, good-bye for the present. Oh, yes, I have forgottensomething. Tell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch, that Marfa Petrovnaremembered her in her will and left her three thousand rubles.That's absolutely certain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it a week beforeher death, and it was done in my presence. Avdotya Romanovna will beable to receive the money in two or three weeks."

　　"Are you telling the truth?"

　　"Yes, tell her. Well, your servant. I am staying very near you."

　　As he went out, Svidrigailov ran up against Razumihin in thedoorway.

　　Chapter Two

　　IT WAS nearly eight o'clock. The two young men hurried toBakaleyev's, to arrive before Luzhin.

　　"Why, who was that?" asked Razumihin, as soon as they were in thestreet.

"Very likely she would."

　　"Not in the least. Then a man may do nothing but harm to hisneighbour in this world, and is prevented from doing the tiniest bitof good by trivial conventional formalities. That's absurd. If I died,for instance, and left that sum to your sister in my will, surelyshe wouldn't refuse it?"

　　"Very likely she would."

　　"Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, so be it, though tenthousand roubles is a capital thing to have on occasion. In any case Ibeg you to repeat what I have said to Avdotya Romanovna."

　　"No, I won't."

　　"In that case, Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be obliged to try and seeher myself and worry her by doing so."

　　"And if I do tell her, will you not try to see her?"

　　"I don't know really what to say. I should like very much to see heronce more."

　　"Don't hope for it."

　　"I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps we may become betterfriends."

　　"You think we may become friends?"

　　"And why not?" Svidrigailov said, smiling. He stood up and tookhis hat. "I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here withoutreckoning on it... though I was very much struck by your face thismorning."

　　"Where did you see me this morning?" Raskolnikov asked uneasily.

　　"I saw you by chance.... I kept fancying there is something aboutyou like me.... But don't be uneasy. I am not intrusive; I used to geton all right with card-sharpers, and I never bored Prince Svirbey, agreat personage who is a distant relation of mine, and I could writeabout Raphael's Madonna in Madam Prilukov's album, and I never leftMarfa Petrovna's side for seven years, and I used to stay the night atViazemsky's house in the Hay Market in the old days, and I may go upin a balloon with Berg, perhaps."

I wasn't paying so much attention

I glared at him frostily. "I would never."

Jasper's frown caught my attention; he seemed even more disturbed than before.

Edward touched his fist lightly to Jasper's shoulder in a mock punch. "You see what I mean?"

"It's not natural," Jasper muttered.

"She could have turned on you—she's only hours old!" Esme scolded, putting her hand against her heart.
"Oh, we should have gone with you."

I wasn't paying so much attention, now that Edward was past the punch line of his joke. I was staring at
the gorgeous child by the door, who was still staring at me. Her little dimpled hands reached out toward
me like she knew exactly who I was. Automatically, my hand lifted to mimic hers.

"Edward," I said, leaning around Jasper to see her better. "Please?"

Jasper's teeth were set; he didn't move.

"Jazz, this isn't anything you've seen before," Alice said quietly. "Trust me."

Their eyes met for a short second, and then Jasper nodded. He moved out of my way, but put one hand
on my shoulder and moved with me as I walked slowly forward.

I thought about every step before I took it, analyzing my mood, the burn in my throat, the position of the
others around me. How strong I felt versus how well they would be able to contain me. It was a slow
procession.

And then the child in Rosalie's arms, struggling and reaching all this time while her expression got more
and more irritated, let out a high, ringing wail. Everyone reacted as if—like me—they'd never heard her
voice before.

They swarmed around her in a second, leaving me standing alone, frozen in place. The sound of
Renesmee's cry pierced right through me, spearing me to the floor. My eyes pricked in the strangest way,
like they wanted to tear.

It seemed like everyone had a hand on her, patting and soothing. Everyone but me.

She started to

"He's absolutely right to rebuke me, Bella," Edward said with a grin. "I made a huge mistake. The fact
that you are stronger than anyone I've ever known doesn't change that."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Tasteful joke, Edward."

"I wasn't making a joke. I was explaining to Jasper why I know Bella can handle this. It's not my fault
everyone jumped to conclusions."

"Wait," Jasper gasped. "She didn't hunt the humans?"

"She started to," Edward said, clearly enjoying himself. My teeth ground together. "She was entirely
focused on the hunt."

"What happened?" Carlisle interjected. His eyes were suddenly bright, an amazed smile beginning to
form on his face. It reminded me of before, when he'd wanted the details on my transformation
experience. The thrill of new information.

Edward leaned toward him, animated. "She heard me behind her and reacted defensively. As soon as
my pursuit broke into her concentration, she snapped right out of it. I've never seen anything to equal her.
She realized at once what was happening, and then... she held her breath and ran away"

"Whoa," Emmett murmured. "Seriously?"

"He's not telling it right," I muttered, more embarrassed than before. "He left out the part where I
growled at him."

"Did ya get in a couple of good swipes?" Emmett asked eagerly.

"No! Of course not."

"No, not really? You really didn't attack him?"

"Emmett!" I protested.

"Aw, what a waste," Emmett groaned. "And here you're probably the one person who could take him
—since he can't get in your head to cheat—and you had a perfect excuse, too." He sighed. "I've been
dying to see how he'd do without that advantage."

her expression managed to look impatient.

Jasper's eyes were tight, focused. I knew he was taking in my emotional climate, and I worked on
settling into a steady calm. I felt Edward free my arms as he read Jasper's assessment. But, though Jasper
was getting it firsthand, he didn't seem as certain.

When she heard my voice, the too-aware child struggled in Rosalie's arms, reaching toward me.

Somehow, her expression managed to look impatient.

"Jazz, Em, let us through. Bella's got this."

"Edward, the risk—," Jasper said.

"Minimal. Listen, Jasper—on the hunt she caught the scent of some hikers who were in the wrong place
at the wrong time___"

I heard Carlisle suck in a shocked breath. Esme's face was suddenly full of concern mingled with
compassion. Jasper's eyes widened, but he nodded just a tiny bit, as if Edward's words answered some
question in his head. Jacob's mouth screwed up into a disgusted grimace. Emmett shrugged. Rosalie
seemed even less concerned than Emmett as she tried to hold on to the struggling child in her arms.

Alice's expression told me that she was not fooled. Her narrowed eyes, focused with burning intensity on
my borrowed shirt, seemed more worried about what I'd done to my dress than anything else.

"Edward!" Carlisle chastened. "How could you be so irresponsible?"

"I know, Carlisle, I know. I was just plain stupid. I should have taken the time to make sure we were in
a safe

zone before I set her loose."

"Edward," I mumbled, embarrassed by the way they stared at me. It was like they were trying to see a
brighter red in my eyes.

But Edward was there in her features, and I was there in the color of her eyes and cheeks. Even Charlie
had a place in her thick curls, though their color matched Edward's. She must be ours. Impossible, but
still true.

Seeing this unanticipated little person did not make her more real, though. It only made her more
fantastic.

Rosalie patted the hand against her neck and murmured, "Yes, that's her."

Renesmee's eyes stayed locked on mine. Then, as she had just seconds after her violent birth, she smiled
at me. A brilliant flash of tiny, perfect white teeth.

Reeling inside, I took a hesitant step toward her.

Everyone moved very fast.

Emmett and Jasper were right in front of me, shoulder to shoulder, hands ready. Edward gripped me
from behind, fingers tight again on the tops of my arms. Even Carlisle and Esme moved to get Emmett's
and Jasper's flanks, while Rosalie backed to the door, her arms clutching at Renesmee. Jacob moved,
too, keeping his protective stance in front of them.

Alice was the only one who held her place.

"Oh, give her some credit," she chided them. "She wasn't going to do anything. You'd want a closer
look, too."

Alice was right. I was in control of myself. I'd been braced for anything—for a scent as impossibly
insistent as the human smell in the woods. The temptation here was really not comparable. Renesmee's
fragrance was perfectly balanced right on the line between the scent of the most beautiful perfume and the
scent of the most delicious food. There was enough of the sweet vampire smell to keep the human part
from being overwhelming.

I could handle it. I was sure.

"I'm okay," I promised, patting Edward's hand on my arm. Then I hesitated and added, "Keep close,
though, just in case."

"Super-creepy. But it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Gee—thanks for the amazing compliment!"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. You still look like you—sort of. Maybe it's not the look so
much as... you are Bella. I didn't think it would feel like you were still here." He smiled at me again
without a trace of bitterness or resentment anywhere in his face. Then he chuckled and said, "Anyway, I
guess I'll get used to the eyes soon enough."

"You will?" I asked, confused. It was wonderful that we were still friends, but it wasn't like we'd be
spending much time together.

The strangest look crossed his face, erasing the smile. It was almost... guilty? Then his eyes shifted to
Edward.

"Thanks," he said. "I didn't know if you'd be able to keep it from her, promise or not. Usually, you just
give her everything she wants."

"Maybe I'm hoping she'll get irritated and rip your head off," Edward suggested.

Jacob snorted.

"What's going on? Are you two keeping secrets from me?" I demanded, incredulous.

"I'll explain later," Jacob said self-consciously—like he didn't really plan on it. Then he changed the
subject. "First, let's get this show on the road." His grin was a challenge now as he started slowly
forward.

There was a whine of protest behind him, and then Leah's gray body slid out of the trees behind him.
The taller, sandy-colored Seth was right behind her.

"Cool it, guys," Jacob said. "Stay out of this."

I was glad they didn't listen to him but only followed after him a little more slowly.

The wind was still now; it wouldn't blow his scent away from me.

He got close enough that I could feel the heat of his body in the air between us. My throat burned in
response.

Would she say no?

114

Would she say no?  What would I do if she did?
"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?"
"I don't see how that is any of your business," she grumbled.
That still wasn't a no.  And her heart was beating faster again, her breath coming
more quickly.
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."
"Honestly, Edward, I can't keep up with you.  I thought you didn't want to be my
friend."
A thrill shot through me when she spoke my name.
How to keep it light and yet be honest at the same time?  Well, it was more
important to be honest.  Especially on this point.
"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."
"Oh, thanks, now that's all cleared up," she said sarcastically.
She paused, under the edge of the cafeteria's roof, and met my gaze again.  Her
heartbeats stuttered.  Was she afraid?
I chose my words carefully.  No, I could not leave her, but maybe she would be
smart enough to leave me, before it was too late.
"It would be more?prudent for you not to be my friend."  Staring into the melted
chocolate depths of her eyes, I lost my hold on light.  "But I'm tired of trying to stay
away from you, Bella."  The words burned with much too much fervor.
Her breathing stopped and, in the second it took for it to restart, that worried me.
How much had I scared her?  Well, I would find out.
"Will you go to Seattle with me?" I demanded, point blank.
She nodded, her heart drumming loudly.
Yes.  She'd said yes to me.
And then my conscious smote me.  What would this cost her?
"You really should stay away from me," I warned her.  Did she hear me?  Would
she escape the future I was threatening her with?  Couldn't I do anything to save her from
me?
Keep it light, I shouted at myself.  "I'll see you in class."
I had to concentrate to stop myself from running as I fled.
? 2008 Stephenie Meyer

Do you have a multiple personality disorder?

113

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."  A course of action had
just occurred to me, and I laughed.
"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" she asked.
It must seem that way.  My mood was erratic, so many new emotions coursing
through me.
"You're doing it again," I pointed out.
She sighed.  "Fine then.  What do you want to ask?"
"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday?" I watched the shock cross her face,
and choked back another laugh.  "You know, the day of the spring dance—"
She cut me off, finally returning her eyes to mine.  "Are you trying to be funny?"
Yes.  "Will you let me finish?"
She waited in silence, her teeth pressing into her soft lower lip.
That sight distracted me for a second.  Strange, unfamiliar reactions stirred deep
in my forgotten human core.  I tried to shake them off so I could play my role.
"I heard you say that you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if
you wanted a ride?" I offered.  I'd realized that, better than just questioning her about her
plans, I might share them.
She stared at me blankly.  "What?"
"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"  Alone in a car with her—my throat burned at
the thought.  I took a deep breath.  Get used to it.
"With who?" she asked, her eyes wide and bewildered again.
"Myself, obviously," I said slowly.
"Why?"
Was it really such as shock that I would want her company?  She must have
applied the worst possible meaning to my past behavior.
"Well," I said as casually as possible, "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next
few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."  It seemed safer to
tease her than to allow myself to be serious.
"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern," she said in the
same surprised voice.  She started walking again.  I kept pace with her.
She hadn't really said no, so I pressed that advantage.
? 2008 Stephenie Meyer

I ran to school

111

I ran to school, arriving a few seconds after my siblings did.  They did not turn,
though Alice at least must have known that I stood here in the thick woods that bordered
the pavement.  I waited until no one was looking, and then I strolled casually from
between the trees into the lot full of parked cars.
I heard Bella's truck rumbling around the corner, and I paused behind a Suburban,
where I could watch without being seen.
She drove into the lot, glaring at my Volvo for a long moment before she parked
in one of the most distant spaces, a frown on her face.
It was strange to remember that she was probably still angry with me, and with
good reason.
I wanted to laugh at myself—or kick myself.  All my plotting and planning was
entirely moot if she didn't care for me, too, wasn't it?  Her dream could have been about
something completely random.  I was such an arrogant fool.
Well, it was so much the better for her if she didn't care for me.  That wouldn't
stop me from pursuing her, but I would give her fair warning as I pursued.  I owed her
that.
I walked silently forward, wondering how best to approach her.
She made it easy.  Her truck key slipped through her fingers as she got out, and
fell into a deep puddle.
She reached down, but I got to it first, retrieving it before she had to put her
fingers in the cold water.
I leaned back against her truck as she started and then straightened up.
"How do you do that?" she demanded.
Yes, she was still angry.
I offered her the key.  "Do what?"
She held her hand out, and I dropped the key in her palm.  I took a deep breath,
pulling in her scent.
"Appear out of thin air," she clarified.
"Bella, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant."  The words were
wry, almost a joke.  Was there anything she didn't see?
? 2008 Stephenie Meyer

Alice had seen only two futures for Bella

110

Alice had seen only two futures for Bella, and now I understood them both.
Loving her would not keep me from killing her, if I let myself make mistakes.
Yet I could not feel the monster now, could not find him anywhere in me.
Perhaps love had silenced him forever.  If I killed her now, it would not be intentional,
only a horrible accident.
I would have to be inordinately careful.  I would never, ever be able to let my
guard down.  I would have to control my every breath.  I would have to keep an always
cautious distance.
I would not make mistakes.
I finally understood that second future.  I'd been baffled by that vision—what
could possibly happen to result in Bella becoming a prisoner to this immortal half-life?
Now—devastated by longing for the girl—I could understand how I might, in
unforgivable selfishness, ask my father for that favor.  Ask him to take away her life and
her soul so that I could keep her forever.
She deserved better.
But I saw one more future, one thin wire that I might be able to walk, if I could
keep my balance.
Could I do it?  Be with her and leave her human?
Deliberately, I took a deep breath, and then another, letting her scent rip through
me like wildfire.  The room was thick with her perfume; her fragrance was layered on
every surface.  My head swam, but I fought the spinning.  I would have to get used to
this, if I were going to attempt any kind of relationship with her.  I took another deep,
burning breath.
I watched her sleeping until the sun rose behind the eastern clouds, plotting and
breathing.
I got home just after the others had left for school.  I changed quickly, avoiding Esme's
questioning eyes.  She saw the feverish light in my face, and she felt both worry and
relief.  My long melancholy had pained her, and she was glad it seemed to be over.
? 2008 Stephenie Meyer

She was dreaming of me.

109

She was dreaming of me.
Could a dead, frozen heart beat again?  It felt like mine was about to.
"Stay," she sighed.  "Don't go.  Please?don't go."
She was dreaming of me, and it wasn't even a nightmare.  She wanted me to stay
with her, there in her dream.
I struggled to find words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had
no words strong enough to hold them.  For a long moment, I drowned in them.
When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been.
My life was an unending, unchanging midnight.  It must, by necessity, always be
midnight for me.  So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my
midnight?
At the time that I had become a vampire, trading my soul and my mortality for
immortality in the searing pain of transformation, I had truly been frozen.  My body had
turned into something more like rock than flesh, enduring and unchanging.  My self, also,
had frozen as it was—my personality, my likes and my dislikes, my moods and my
desires; all were fixed in place.
It was the same for the rest of them.  We were all frozen.  Living stone.
When change came for one of us, it was a rare and permanent thing.  I had seen it
happen with Carlisle, and then a decade later with Rosalie.  Love had changed them in an
eternal way, a way that never faded.  More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle
had found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with the incredulous eyes of first love.  It
would always be that way for them.
It would always be that way for me, too.  I would always love this fragile human
girl, for the rest of my limitless existence.
I gazed at her unconscious face, feeling this love for her settle into every portion
of my stone body.
She slept more peacefully now, a slight smile on her lips.
Always watching her, I began to plot.
I loved her, and so I would try to be strong enough to leave her.  I knew I wasn't
that strong now.  I would work on that one.  But perhaps I was strong enough to
circumvent the future in another way.
? 2008 Stephenie Meyer

You reallywant to imprint

If I was any good for that, Sam would have been drawn tome.

Her pain was enough that I broke stride under it.

But I'm not There's something wrong with me. I don't have the ability to pass on the gene, apparently,
despite my stellar bloodlines. So I become a freak— the girlie-wolf—good for nothing else. I'm a
genetic dead end and we both know it.

We do not,I argued with her. That's just Sam's theory. Imprinting happens, but we don't know why.
Billy thinks it's something else.

I know, I know. He thinks you're imprinting to makestronger wolves. Because you and Sam are such
humongous monsters— bigger than our fathers. But either way, I'm still not a candidate. I'm... I'm
menopausal. I'm twenty years old and I'm menopausal.

Ugh. I so didn't want to have this conversation. You don't know that, Leah. It's probably just the
whole frozen-in-time thing. When you quit your wolf and start getting older again, I'm sure things
will... er... pick right back up.

/might think that— except that no one's imprinting onme, notwithstanding my impressive
pedigree. You know, she added thoughtfully, if you weren't around, Seth would probably have the
best claim to being Alpha — through his blood, at least. Of course, no one would ever consider
me....

You reallywant to imprint, or be imprinted on, or whichever? I demanded. What's wrong with
going out and falling in love like a normal person, Leah? Imprinting is just another way of getting
your choices taken away from you.

Sam, Jared, Paul, Quit... they don't seem to mind.

None of themhave a mind of their own.

You don't want to imprint?

Hell, no!

That's just because you're already in love withher. That would go away, you know, if you imprinted.
You wouldn't have to hurt over her anymore.

I don't understand.

The vicious edge to her words left me floundering. I hadn't expected to have my anger trumped.

I don't understand.

Youwould, if you weren't just like the rest of them. If my "female sfu/T—she thought the words with
a hard, sarcastic tone— didn't send you running for cover just like any stupid male, so you could
actually pay attention to what it all means.

Oh.

Yeah, so none of us like to think about that stuff with her. Who would? Of course I remembered Leah's
panic that first month after she joined the pack—and I remembered cringing away from it just like
everyone else. Because she couldn't be pregnant— not unless there was some really freaky religious
immaculate crap going on. She hadn't been with anyone since Sam. And then, when the weeks dragged
on and nothing turned into more nothing, she'd realized that her body wasn't following the normal patterns
anymore. The horror—what was she now? Had her body changed because she'd become a werewolf?
Or had she become a werewolf because her body was wrong? The only female werewolf in the history
of forever. Was that because she wasn't as female as she should be?

None of us had wanted to deal with that breakdown. Obviously, it wasn't like we could empathize.

You know why Sam thinks we imprint,she thought, calmer now.

Sure. To carry on the line.

Right. To make a bunch of new little werewolves. Survival of the species, genetic override. You're
drawn to the person who gives you the best chance to pass on the wolf gene.

I waited for her to tell me where she was qoinq with this.

You know what's crazy?she asked.

She saw the funny side of the daily irritations that came from hanging out around vampires. She liked my
ragging on Rosalie, chuckling internally and even running through a few blonde jokes in her mind that I
might be able

to work in. But then her thoughts turned serious, lingering on Rosalie's face in a way that confused me.

You know what's crazy?she asked.

Well, almost everything is crazy right now. But what do you mean?

That blond vampire you hate so much—/ totally get her perspective.

For a second I thought she was making a joke that was in very poor taste. And then, when I realized she
was serious, the fury that ripped through me was hard to control. It was a good thing we'd spread out to
run our watch. If she'd been within biting distance...

Hold up! Let me explain!

Don't want to hear it I'm outta here.

Wait! Wait!she pleaded as I tried to calm myself enough to phase back. C'mon, Jake!

Leah, this isn't really the best way to convince me that I want to spend more time with you in the future.

Yeesh! What an overreaction. You don't even know what I'm talking about

So whatare you talking about?


And then she was suddenly the pain-hardened Leah from before. I'm talking about being a genetic
dead end, Jacob.

I know it's going to be bad for you

You know, Leah, you might want to think a little bit about the future, about what you really want to do.
My head is not going to be the happiest place on earth. And you'll have to suffer right along with me.

She thought about how to answer me. Wow, this is going to sound bad. But, honestly, it will be
easier to deal with your pain than face mine.

Fair enough.

I know it's going to be bad for you, Jacob. I understand that— maybe better than you think. I don't
like her, but... she's your Sam. She's everything you want and everything you can't have.

I couldn't answer.

know it's worse for you. At least Sam is happy. At least he's alive and well. I love him enough
that I want that. I want him to have what's best for him. She sighed. I just don't want to stick
around to watch.

Do we need to talk about this?

I think we do. Because I want you to know that I won't make it worse for you. Hell, maybe I'll even
help. I wasn'tborn a compassionless shrew. I used to be sort of nice, you know.

My memory doesn't go that far back.

We both laughed once.

I'm sorry about this, Jacob. I'm sorry you're in pain. I'm sorry it's getting worse and not better

Thanks, Leah.

She thought about the things that were worse, the black pictures in my head, while I tried to tune her out
without much success. She was able to look at them with some distance, some perspective, and I had to
admit that this was helpful. I could imagine that maybe I would be able to see it that way, too, in a few
years.

Were getting pretty far out here,she commented.

We got deeper and deeper into the mountains without finding any trace of the pack. Fading vampire
trails were everywhere, but the scents were familiar now. I was breathing them in all day long.

I founda heavy, somewhat recent concentration on one particular trail—all of them coming and going
here except for Edward. Some reason for gathering that must have been forgotten when Edward brought
his dying pregnant wife home. I gritted my teeth. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with me.

Leah didn't push herself past me, though she could have now. I was paying more attention to each new
scent than I was to the speed contest. She kept to my right side, running with me rather than racing
against me.

Were getting pretty far out here,she commented.

Yeah. If Sam was hunting strays, we should have crossed his trail by now.

Makes more sense right now for him to bunker down in La Push,Leah thought. He knows we're giving
the bloodsuckers three extra sets of eyes and legs. He's not going to be able to surprise them.

This was just a precaution, really.

Wouldn't want our precious parasites taking unnecessary chances.

Nope,I agreed, ignoring the sarcasm.

You've changed so much, Jacob. Talk about one-eighties.

You're not exactly the same Leah I've always known and loved, either.

True. Am I less annoying than Paul now?

Amazingly... yes.

Ah, sweet success.

Congrats.
We ran in silence again then. It was probably time to turn around, but neither of us wanted to. It felt nice
to run like this. We'd been staring at the same small circle of atrail for too long. It felt good to stretch our
muscles and take the rugged terrain. We weren't in a huge hurry, so I thought maybe we should hunt on
the way back. Leah was pretty

hungry.