Chapter 4 – It's Only Your Life [PDF]
and I'm banging on your door
so come on and let me in!
need a place to hide
I need a place to hide before the storm begins
(White Lies - A Place To Hide)
Edward Cullen
It was already dark outside when I sat down at my mothers kitchen table to eat the dinner she had made for us. Esme insisted I should stay with her over the night. The murder caused her a lot of trouble. She had always been an overprotective person, but her anxiety concerning the family only increased after Carlisle had died. Well, I was glad that at least my mother would stand behind me in this fucked up shit. She didn't ask once if I did it and I wouldn't even blame her if she had.
We ate in silence and after I finished my meal I excused myself to go to bed early. Esme understood that I must be exhausted and told me that she had already put clean sheets on my old bed. I hugged her briefly before I went up the stairs to my old room. Not much had changed over the last years, so I just pressed play on the stereo and fortunately some classical music filled the room. My decision to stay with Esme seemed like a good idea, because her company had distracted me from the events of the day. But now that I was alone, my thoughts went in overdrive again. I let myself fall onto my bed fully clothed and crossed my arms behind my head to stare unfocused at the ceiling.
I needed to think this through rationally. Of course just because the police had let me go today I couldn't be sure that I was off the hook. Officer Black had made perfectly clear that I still was their prime suspect and unfortunately I couldn't really blame them for believing so. But nonetheless I was left with the definite knowledge that I didn't do it. So who did? Who killed Claire?
Claire. She had been nothing but kind towards me and that means a lot. I knew I could be an asshole when work got too frustrating. I couldn't imagine her being unfriendly to anyone else either. As far as I knew there was no rape or anything sexual involved in the crime and she didn't have a lot of money. Although I couldn't know the latter for sure. Maybe she inherited a fortune from a rich aunt or something. But who would be
her heir? Who had a motive? She was young and had no children. Maybe siblings? But why would they murder her in my office?
Yeah, alright. The reason was to be found elsewhere. The murder took place in my company so I needed to start there with the search to prove my innocence. I mentally skipped through all of my employees. Jessica came to my mind first of course. She was the one I found at the crime scene. She was a little dense sometimes, but I knew her since high school and my insight into human nature couldn't fool me that much. She was totally broken this morning. Nobody can act that good. And don't they say women kill with poison and not that brutally? Okay probably that was stupid reasoning, 'cause whoever did this was mentally ill; no matter if woman or man.
Anyway, it wasn't Jessica. Period.
So, back to Claire. Most of the time, she worked for me. She did lots of my paperwork, wrote most of my letters and served drinks and the like when I had visitors. I was capable of getting tea for myself, when I was alone though. When there wasn't enough work for her, she headed over to the accountants to help them out. Seems like those guys are always busy and there was always something to do for her.
Okay so that was a start. The accountant guys were the one's she probably was closest to. What about James Barth, head of the accountant compartment. He acted odd anyway the last couple of days. Seems like all my anger is directed at him lately. That reminded me. I never found out if he went out with my beautiful Bella the night before. Oh the nerve of him.... But that's not where I wanted my thoughts to be. Not now and probably rather never. James. He had been nothing but friendly towards me and towards everybody else as far as I knew. Until a few days ago that is. He not only hit on Bella, but also told the police something about me having a
thing for Claire.
What does he know? Did Claire say something to him? Did I make the impression?
I don't think so. There was something terribly wrong with James and the longer I thought about it, the more aware I became of that. But that didn't make him a murderer.
I was getting nowhere with those musings. I needed to
do something. The police would just try to prove me guilty and the accomplishment of that seemed more likely than anything else right now. I couldn't expect any help from them, so I finally came to the conclusion that I needed to get back to the place of crime itself. Maybe I would be able to find anything that would lead me to the killer. Without wanting to disturb Esme, I more or less sneaked out of the house and drove back to Gateshead. I had no idea what exactly I was looking for, but the culprit must've left traces so I basically was going to look for anything unusual.
I parked in my usual spot in the parking garage near the elevator, but took the stairs once more just for precaution. There wasn't anyone in the building at this time of day and there was no need to be especially silent but I probably would have whispered if there had been anyone to talk to. I felt like I was breaking and entering in my own company. Sneaking in in the middle of the night does that to you, I guess.
I climbed up the stairs to the third floor where not only my office was, but also Claire's. The door to my office was closed and the police had sealed it with one of those crime-scene tapes, which would indicate if someone would open it without permission. I wasn't in the mood to get in there anyway. They had probably removed the body by now, but the blood would definitely still be there and I already vomited once today. No need for a repeat performance. So I walked past my door and straight to Claire's right next to it. Surprisingly it wasn't sealed. Apparently the police didn't found it necessary to search her office for evidence. That, or they had already finished looking through her office.
I silently opened the door, slid inside and closed it behind me. It wasn't like I did something against the law, but it still felt strange to walk around the dark and deserted building being the murder suspect that I was.
I walked over to her desk and looked at the stuff she had worked on the day before. Since Claire hadn't been doing lots of work for me the last couple of days, she had done some paperwork for the accountants as it seemed. Lots of bills and calculations were clattered around her desk and I looked at a few of them a little closer. Nothing looked strange to me, but what did I know? I turned on her computer to look through her e-mails. Maybe I could find any answers in them. While it booted up I clicked through the last calls on her phone. The only outgoing calls I found, were the ones I made her do a few days go. I guess the accountants weren't that much into communication. No out of the ordinary incoming calls on that list either.
Her computer had finally booted and I started the mail-program. Maybe it wasn't right to look through someone else's e-mails, but these weren't supposed to be private and oh well, it's not like she would ever find out.
The e-mails were a big disappointment anyway. I don't know what exactly I was looking for, but there definitely wasn't anyone openly threatening her or something like that. Without hoping it would help the matter I opened her browser and checked her last visited websites and her favourites, but as expected: nothing interesting there. She had been on the website of our main bank as well as on some websites of investors and affiliates. I couldn't find anything odd in her things. She didn't even visit non work-related websites. Maybe that was a little odd after all. I shut the computer down and leaned back in the comfortable leather chair. What now? My brilliant idea didn't turn out to be so brilliant at all. No progress whatsoever. I tried to reason. There needed to be something behind the surface, something big enough to justify murder. Perhaps I had to look for secrets and thought about places to hide confidential stuff. Now that felt like a déjà vu. The desk drawer was the first thing that came to my mind. I reached out and opened it and instead of some stupid red umbrella there was just more paperwork in a disarranged state. I grabbed everything with both of my hands and spread it out on the floor, because the desk was already a mess as it was. Lots of little yellow post-it notes and other mostly handwritten things fluttered around. One note written in blue ink got my attention, because all of the other ones were written with a black ball-pen.
Off of the massive amount of notes this was the only one that seemed at least slightly promising. The others only held phone numbers, reminders of deadlines or times for appointments and the like. This one was dated with yesterday's day and had an account number, a pretty big amount of money and a few cryptic notes on it. Definitely Claire's handwriting. Well, I could call this Mr. Henderson as requested on the note, but a swift glance at my watch told me that this was not the right time to call some bank clerk. It was already nearing midnight so there was not much I could do right now. Maybe I could find out, to whom the account number belonged though. I let the note disappear in my pocket and tried to tidy up the mess I made on the floor and turned the computer off before I exited the room to head over to the accountants. There must be records of transfers and maybe I could locate the number somewhere.
The most recent bills and financial statements were stored in the offices, while older ones were kept downstairs. I hoped this was a recent issue, so I tried James' office first. There were walls packed with folders and I was instantly discouraged. How should I find anything in here? I've barely been here before. While I strolled past the shelves to read the inscriptions on the folders I was about to give up. This was overly stupid. I should leave all of this with the police. I wasn't guilty and they would find out sooner or later, wouldn't they? By the end of the row were a few folders labelled with “Monthly statement of account” and I decided I would try just this one folder and if this wasn't working I would just go home and go to sleep. I picked the most recent one and walked over to James' desk. I laid the folder on top of it, opened it and scrolled through it. Page by page. Everything was listed there. Outgoing transfers for suppliers, employees and insurances, the list went on and on and on. How should I find a single stupid number in all this mess. Probably it wasn't even there. I was about to close the folder angrily when my eyes fell on the unusual name. “Fagur Alit”. And right next to it was a number very similar to the one on the note. I skipped through the pages one more time and found more entries with the same name and all the time lots of money was transferred to a foreign account at the Central Bank of Iceland. Ok, this was strange indeed. As far as I knew – and I admit that this mustn't mean anything – we didn't have any partners, suppliers or customers in Iceland. Wind energy isn't exactly in their centre of attention.
I closed the folder, put the little note back in my pocket and shoved the folder back into its place on the shelf. No need to let anyone know someone was here to look this up. Maybe I should've worn gloves or something? But I was the boss of this firm so it was perfectly normal when fingerprints of me were everywhere, right?
I switched the light off and headed back to Claire's office, since mine was still sealed. Again, I turned her computer on and waited impatiently for it to boot.
As the browser finally opened up, I opened google and searched for this “Fagur Alit” thing. There goes nothing. A few music sites and other stuff in a language I identified as Icelandic came up and that was about it. I finally found a dictionary and it translated the two words into “beautiful view”. That didn't make any sense either. Both hands went into my hair out of frustration. I had a feeling that something was wrong with this, but I had absolutely no idea what to do now. Was this supposed to be a name or a company? And what was all this money for that was transferred to this account? If I was better at research, maybe I could find something out, but I wasn't.
But I knew one person who was. Isabella Swan. I remembered her very detailed and well-researched articles clearly. Maybe she would know what to do. I hated where my thoughts were heading. This was wrong on so many levels. Probably she was writing an article about me right now. About how I was the murderer of Claire, about how my company was a total failure and about what an unlimited idiot I was. And the worst of it was that the word idiot didn't even cover the extent of my stupidity.
I shut down Claire's computer again not without clearing the browsers history beforehand and feeling uncharacteristically smart doing so. After leaving her office and taking the stairs down to the garage again, I walked right back to my precious car.
I sank down behind the wheel and stared out of the windscreen into the barely lit garage. What now? I should probably head back to my mother's house before she recognized I had gone out, but where would that leave me? I hadn't found out anything yet. Still trying to convince myself otherwise, deep down I had already made my decision. I would go and visit Isabella Swan. And that was for the most different reasons.
First and foremost I wanted her to help me with my research. And I had no idea if she was willing to do so, which led me to the second reason: I needed to ask her why she told the police about my little argument with Claire. Somehow it was essentially important to me that she knew I was innocent. The look she gave me as I was escorted by the police in the morning was something I wouldn't forget too soon.
Alright, decision made. I turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the garage when I realized that I had no idea where Bella lived. This was a problem I hadn't considered.
I drove two blocks down and double-parked on the street, jumped out of the car and ran to one of the few remaining phone booths in town I knew of. I could only hope she was listed in the telephone directory. I slipped into the box and grabbed the worn down book. My eyes scanned through the names. There were four Swans, but only one with an added 'I.' as the shortcut of a given name. That must be her!
I had heard the name of that street the was supposed to live in before and guessed it was a little north of town. I ripped the page out of the book so I wouldn't forget the address.
Nobody uses telephone boxes these days anyway, right? I headed back to my car and drove into the night. There wasn't much traffic at this time of day so I reached my destination pretty soon and fortunately without much searching. I even found a parking spot behind some disgusting old car.
The house she lived in was old, but pretty and in a good shape. The front door was open so I ignored the bell and went right into the hall to find a light switch. I went up the stairs and looked at the plates beside each door indicating the apartments occupant until I found hers on the second floor. Isabella Swan. So it was really her. There was no light shining through the peep-hole or under her door. She probably was sound asleep already. So much for journalists being up all night and writing stuff. I couldn't back out now. I was here and I was going to talk to her. I took a deep breath and knocked on her door, while my other hand found its way into the pocket of my jacket. Softly at first but when nothing happened I knocked a little louder. Still nothing happened. Maybe she wasn't even at home. Maybe she went out with James again and stayed with him. Oh no. That wasn't something I wanted to think about. I needed her to be home. Alone.
I knocked again and thought that I heard someone cursing silently inside. She was home. A little weight left my body. I leaned closer to her voice and whisper-yelled her name through the closed door. “Bella? It's Edward. Edward Cullen. Could you please open your door? I need to talk to you.”
Silence again.
It seemed like hours passed and I was about to knock again when I heard the key turning in the lock of her door. It slowly opened a little. Just enough for me to see her beautiful face. A little crease formed on her forehead as she looked up at me.
“What do you want?” she asked in a silent voice.
“I need to talk to you. I.... I might need your help.” I answered her, pleading with my eyes that she would let me in.
She looked at me for a moment and obviously came to a conclusion right then. She opened her door and stepped aside to let me walk into her apartment.
I was beyond grateful for the trust she showed towards me and as soon as I was in her hall, my eyes found hers again. Her hair was a mess as if she just got out of bed, but her eyes were bright and clear and I had hope that I hadn't woken her up from a deep sleep at least.
I couldn't help but to take in her whole form. She was wearing comfortable looking dark blue pyjamas and looked so frail and delicate, mesmerizing and mostly beautiful in it, that I couldn't help but just stare at her for a few moments.
Bella Swan
I had spent the whole afternoon going through my notes, thinking and considering various possibilities. Why was Claire McNamara murdered? And by whom? There were so many questions and I was desperate for some answers. In the end, I came up with nothing and kept getting more and more frustrated. I figured I should go back to Gateshead once more, talk to the staff, do some more research. Maybe I could even visit the police station and charm some more information out of Jacob and camouflage my visit with the confirmation of my statement I had to make anyway. All of this tomorrow though. It had already gotten pretty late tonight, so I collected my notes and hesitated shortly before also taking the prints Ryan had passed me earlier.
Of course those pictures were in our database also, but Ryan had been so happy with two of his shots that he had printed them and showed them off to the boss. Ben was getting even more excited about this being such a
big story. Honestly, I tried not to listen to both of them that much since their enthusiasm about the arresting of Mr. Cullen discomfited me even more so. After gushing all about it while standing at my desk, they left the prints with me anyway. Finally being by myself I took a closer look and instantly wished I hadn't. The first shot was a close up on Mr. Cullen's face. He was looking down, eyes to the ground. The expression read
remorseful. Of course I had been there and he hadn't acted that way, still it looked almost like guilt in the picture.
See, why I sometimes despise journalism? I shuddered slightly. This wasn't right. I couldn't write this article. Not the one Ben wanted me to write anyway. I didn't want gossip or suspicions. I wanted the truth and nothing else. The other photo showed Mr. Cullen, as he was shoved into the police cruiser, the hand of the officer on his shoulder, pushing him to get in there. It's one thing to read that someone has been to a questioning at the police station or maybe even arrested, but it's another thing to see a picture showing that moment. People tend to memorize images a lot better than words. And nobody should memorize this.
Once I got home, I was so desperate to forget about the whole mess, that I went to bed pretty soon. Not that I did any sleeping though. I kept tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, my head still filled with thoughts about the day I had. My fantasy was so vivid sometimes, I even imagined someone knocking on my door at some point. But then it knocked again and I wasn't so sure I was only making things up in my mind. A quick glance to the clock told me it was half past one in the morning. Who could be knocking at my door at that time? What was going on? Since I wasn't asleep anyway, I got up silently and stumbled through my dark apartment. I stood in front of the door and listened carefully. This was one of the rare moments I wished I'd still live with my dad. Charlie would know how to handle a situation like this. As there were no suspicious sounds, I took a deep breath and braced myself before looking through the peep-hole. My heart skipped a beat. Mr. Edward Cullen was my nightly visitor. Or should I say, Mr. Cullen as in Edward Cullen, the murder suspect. It's odd how somebody gets instantly very suspicions by standing outside your apartment in the middle of the night. Goosebumps creeped their way onto my skin. He wasn't a murderer, right? He would be already arrested if he was, wouldn't he?
Panicked I backed away from the door and while I was quickly going backwards I stumbled over something. My hand shot up to my mouth. I had just cursed aloud. Had he heard that? I froze silently, waiting.
“Bella? It's Edward. Edward Cullen. Could you please open your door? I need to talk to you.” Okay, so obviously now he knew I was here. What should I do? Think, Bella,
think.
His distressed voice sounded authentic. Like he actually
was distressed.
I hated how that affected me. It woke the desire in me to ease his despair. What were my choices anyway?
I could keep pretending I'm not home. - No. I'm not fake like that.
I could call the police. - No. Just ... no.
I could ask him to leave. - Yes, I could do that. But than I'll never find out what he has to say.
Ah, well, I could also just listen to what he has to say and then ask him to leave.
Decision made, I unlocked the door and opened it just as far as I had to to get a good look at the beaten and desperate figure that was standing in the faint light in front of my door.
I got straight to the point. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you. I.... I might need your help.”
He actually stammered. That was the moment I gave up. He needed help and was desperate enough to ask me of all people. Yeah well, and I was stupid enough to step aside and let him in.
We were still in the hallway when he looked at me again. I guess he was somewhat relieved that I let him talk to me. Didn't anybody else? Was there nobody in his life he could trust? My mind was racing and as I got my attention back to the here and now Edward was still staring at me. Oh boy, I was in my pyjamas. I felt my face getting red with embarrassment. “I'll be right back.” I mumbled and rushed off to my bedroom to find something else to wear. Hastily I put a sweater on and decided to keep the pyjama trousers. It seemed ridiculous to change into jeans in your own apartment at this time of day. I tried to recollect myself a bit and put my hair into a ponytail. This was the best I could do without using the bathroom. When I peeked back into the hallway he was gone. Where had he gone? Wasn't it some kind of rule to not leave a murder suspect alone in your hallway. Stupid Bella! Stupid, stupid, stupid. But when I entered my living room, I found him intensely staring at my CD rack. I stood in the door frame and watched him, while he obviously judged my musical taste. As he noticed me after a short while, he turned towards me and smiled his beautiful crooked smile. The intimacy of the moment was too much to bear for me and there were other issues of more importance to deal with right now so I tried to ignore his beauty as good as I could.
“So, did you do it?” I asked him because I needed him to deny it out loud before I could talk to him about anything else.
A dozen emotions flickered through his face, until he finally shrugged and sank down on the sofa. “Of course not,” he stated simply.
Conclusively relief washed over me. “I thought so.”
His head shot up and his eyes searched mine once again. “You did?” I still stood in the door frame, not really sure where to go. What should I reply? That I thought he was an arrogant bastard, but not capable of something like murder? I couldn't do that to him right now. He already seemed devastated enough. I just nodded instead. Time to change the subject again. “Coffee?” I asked, about to make some for me.
“Why?” he asked, clearly not referring to my offer.
“Does the whole concept of caffeine sound familiar to you?” I avoided answering his question.
“Bella.” He just said my name and craved with his eyes. I knew I had lost then and sighed.
“You simply aren't capable of something like that. For heaven's sake, she was stabbed! Now, do you want some coffee or don't you?”
He still didn't respond to me, so I decided I'd get him some anyway.
Coming back to the living room with the cups in my hand I felt awkward in my own home. Edward, or Mr. Cullen or whatever I was supposed to call him, was stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed. I went for the old arm chair with sunken cushions I barely sat in, put his mug down on the table and made myself comfortable with mine. I decided I could give him a minute of rest, since he had looked so completely exhausted earlier. And I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed watching him immensely. His left arm was lying relaxed beside him, while the right hand covered his stomach. When the caffeine had cleared out my last bit of sleepiness, I finally spoke to him again.
“So, what do you need my help for?”
I saw his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he took. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up and I don't want to scare you and I don't want to steal your time, but I don't know anybody else, who might be of any help with this." he apologized and turned his head a little while opening his eyes. He looked at me for a second just to make sure I was okay with him being there on my sofa. When I didn't say anything he closed his eyes again and relaxed his head on the cushions. Finally he continued. "I need to find the one who did it."
“Don't you think, that's what the police is for?”
“Well, here's the thing with the police. They are pretty convinced I did it.” He sat up again and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, before he ran one hand through his messy hair. “I think there's something else behind all of this. Something bigger.” He got my interest there. I was always one for a good conspiracy theory. He eyed his coffee with a bit of disgust, but finally took a sip anyway. Silently I waited for him to continue.
“I found something I think Claire was working on before...,” he trailed off in a husky voice. I nodded. It was even hard for me to talk about her death, I couldn't even imagine how it had affected him. “Then I looked a little further into it and now I think there is something unusual going on in accounting.”
I didn't understand. Was this about Claire and her death? What had this to do with accounting of all things. If it was his goal to get me interested. Congratulations. Mission: accomplished. But this obviously wasn't about playing games anymore. Not even for him. The journalists natural instinct of curiosity kicked in. I needed more information on this. “What to you mean? Unusual?”
“I don't know,” he said, his hands firmly gripping the still almost full mug. “I went back to the office tonight. You know, looking for something to prove my innocence at the crime scene. This may sound weird, but that's what they do in those TV shows and I didn't know any better.”
He sounded like a little boy saying that and I had to smile a little at that. He probably learned how to cook from TV shows as well. But my little internal rant came to a close when I thought about the meaning of his words and the police daughter in me resurfaced while my smile faded into a frown.
“You went back to the office? Why did you do that?” I said a little too loud. “You didn't break any seals right? You can get arrested for just that. You really should leave all of this to the police.”
“No, please chill. I didn't break anything. Went in, looked around, went out again. No big deal. Can I please just continue my story? I might really need your help here.”
I just nodded, not really satisfied with what he gave me so far.
“Alright then. I went to the third floor and my office was sealed, so I went past it.” He pointedly glared at me at that. “But Claire's wasn't, so I went inside and looked around. Checked her e-mails and her desk, when I finally found this little note.”
I was about to interrupt him again, because I thought he was being nosey with reading her e-mails and stuff, but I managed to hold back. Meanwhile he placed his mug back onto the table, reached for the backpocket of his jeans and pulled out a little yellow paper. He held it in his hand and looked briefly at it, before he stretched his arm over the table in my direction to hand it over to me. I mirrored his actions and after putting my mug on the table, reached for the note in his hand.
Our fingers only touched for the smallest moment but just like that my heart skipped a beat. The atmosphere shimmered with energy. Heat rushed through me and I quickly took my hand away and stared at the note. In fact, I wanted to stare at Edward, but I assured myself that the note was the way better choice.
He eyed me warily while I began reading. Though there really wasn't much to read. A few numbers and the plea to call someone back. That was basically it and I still didn't understand. He sensed my confused state and continued his story.
“I didn't know what to make out of this note and because there was nothing else to do, I tried to find out which account this number belongs to.”
He gestured towards the yellow paper and told me about his findings in James Barth's office, about a weird Icelandic name and constant transfers to the mentioned account. “Something must have gone wrong with the last transfer so the bank called and Claire wrote this information down,” he finished and suddenly I thought about my first encounter with Claire.
“I was there,” I whispered remembering.
Mr. Cullen raised his head to look at me properly. “You've been where?”
“When Claire received the call. I was there,” I repeated and paused for a few seconds. Not so much for dramatic effect, but because it was so strange to remember Claire alive when she was now brutally killed, leaving behind a fiancé and a happy life. “I got lost in your building when I was there to get my umbrella. I happened to end up in Mr. Barth's office where she was talking on his phone. She seemed confused about something, checked the computer and finally wrote a note. Before she hung up, she said Mr. Barth would call back as soon as possible. I can't be sure, but I'm almost certain it's the same note we're talking about here. But I still don't understand. Why is this of so much importance? Isn't this normal? Secretaries answering phones, transfers being made, although the recipients name sounds a little odd? And you still haven't answered my question, what do you need my help for?” I was rambling now and I knew it, but I was just so confused by the blank face Mr. Cullen had by now. It seemed like he wasn't even listening to me anymore. Without acknowledging my questions he asked one himself: “James' office, you said?”
It didn't seem like it was a question directed at me though, so I silently waited for him to tell me the thoughts he was forming in his head. He just stood up then and for a second I was afraid he would just leave without telling me anything else, but he just walked to my kitchen door and back, looking on the floor the whole time. Back and forth, back and forth. Again and again. And I just watched him. He creased his forehead as if deeply in thought, ran a hand or even both through his hair from time to time and just paced in long strides through my tiny living room. After about ten minutes I decided I gave him enough time. I needed to know what was going on behind those pretty eyes.
“You know, you should really tell me something before I throw you out.”
He came to a dead stop then. “Sorry. It's just utterly confusing. I had to think.”
I tapped my foot impatiently and he finally sat down again.
“I need your help to research something. I tried myself but I figured you'd be much better at it.”
“Alright? I can try. What are you looking for?”
“The Icelandic transactions. Do you think you could locate this company or whatever it is? Fagur Alit?”
I picked one of the many notepads I had lying around and handed it to Mr. Cullen. “Could you write down the name and any other information you have about them, please. I'll be right back.”
I headed to my bedroom for my computer. It was descend enough for my demands but still it took forever to boot it. So I pressed the button, made a little space on the desk and as I was about to get back to the living room he was walking in.
“Edw...” I mentally slapped myself. “Er, Mr. Cullen!”
He didn't seem uncomfortable in the slightest. “Here, I've got the information you asked for,
Bella," he said casually, emphasising my first name. I guess it's
Edward then from now on.
It was kind of intimidating for me to have this insanely gorgeous man in my bedroom. “S-s-s-ure, thanks,” I stuttered out, taking the information from him, careful not to touch his hand again. I glanced at his handwriting and admired the perfectly steady letters for a moment, before his eyes fell on my computer.
“Wait a minute? So all my hopes depend on that crappy...,” he made a little pause, obviously searching for the right term, “...thing.” He walked past me, not disturbed that he was invading my privacy in any way. As he had examined my computer a little, he turned back at me. "This is actually worse than your non-existent tape recorder. What is this? It looks more like a time-machine than a computer."
“I'm afraid the time-machine broke last month. Otherwise we could go back and prevent anything from happening.”
His face fell then and I hated myself a little for saying that. It wasn't his fault. “Sorry,” I muttered apologetically and sat in front of the computer. Edward stood behind me, observing my every step.
“I'll try a few databases,” I informed him and then concentrated on the screen. I got a little lost in my research and after a while I noted absently, that Edward had pulled the stool, which I kept next to my closet because otherwise I couldn't reach the top shelf, next to me. I was glad he didn't disturb me, because I really had to focus. I couldn't come up with anything about the firm on the usual databases, so I decided to try a few other ones I barely used.
I tried everything I could think of and still came to the same result. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Like it doesn't even exist,” I mumbled to myself, thinking. That must have gotten Edwards attention.
“What do you mean with that? It doesn't exist?”
“I can't find anything on this. Maybe the spelling is wrong or I don't know. Perhaps this is a person, not a company. Nearly every company is in the news at least once in it's existence. Do you have any employees with an Icelandic bank account? I'm running out of options. I could do another search at the paper. They've got more opportunities there. Archives that are not in those electronic databases yet. But they are old and only consist of our paper of course and it's not likely that there's anything about some Icelandic business in there. Maybe I could call a newspaper in Reykjavik and ask them to look for this term.”
“Wait a minute there. So you say that you can't find anything either, right?”
“Yes, that's basically it.”
“Alright then. Well, thank you very much. I need to apologize again for disturbing your night, but I better go now.” He stood up and I quickly blocked the door back to my hallway.
“You can't be serious, can you? I burn the midnight oil here and you just decide to leave without giving me more information?” I felt used and I didn't like it. And I could see it in his eyes. He had a plan. And I wanted to be in on that plan.
“Really Bella, it's late already and I have kept you up long enough. Just go to sleep again. I'm really sorry for having disturbed you already for so long.”
“Don't be sorry and just tell me what you know. You have a plan and I want to know it.”
He sighed and his arms hung limply at his sides. I got the impression that I had convinced him. He would tell me everything.
und 
aussprechen. Die Fic ist toll. Auch in der Weise, wie sie geschrieben ist. Ich kann mir ehrlich nicht vorstellen, dass da noch wirklich Englisch-verbessern von Nöten ist... 
Mitglied der GGG-Partei 
Mitglied der GGG-Partei 
Wie sie sich zueinander führen und vor allem, wann das Vorwort in der Handlung auftaucht.
Quoted
„Oh yeah? Unless you're very tasty and called lunch I don't think that's true.“
Außerdem hat Cold Roses fleißig gebastelt und jetzt haben wir die Kapitel auch als hübsche pdf's für euch. Viel Spaß!
Und ganz plötzlich war er da.
Unfair!! 
Aber nur eine Kleinigkeit 
) Es ist auch schön, dass Bella ohne mit Edward zu reden, nur durch seinen Blick, überzeugt ist, dass er unschuldig ist. Das ist echt romantisch... 
) 
Thursday, September 9th 2010, 7:50am
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Einfach nur hinreisend!^^ Es macht mir richtig Spaß eure Geschichte zu lesen 
. Schreibt schnell weiter! 