Chapter 10

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Chapter 10: Host of Angels

Two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks had gone by since Jasper disappeared and I'd heard nothing. Not a single letter, call or e-mail. No responses to the e-mails and voice mails I continued to leave nearly hourly. He hadn't been back home and hadn't come to a single class. It was as if he disappeared off the fucking face of the planet. Here today, gone tomorrow, with only some of his personal belongings left behind as evidence that he actually did exist. At least I had that. I kept reminding myself that the last time he left I had nothing. At least if his stuff was still in our apartment it meant that he was coming back. I didn't know when, but he had to be coming back.

In the time he'd been gone I only left the apartment to go to class and buy beer. I spent the rest of the time at home, wanting to be sure I was there when he returned. I was tempted to skip classes too, but my experience first term made that a horrible idea, so I trudged to all the sessions Jasper and I were supposed to be attending together, then made my way back to our place as quickly as I could in between. There was no lunch or studying on campus, just the endless back and forth between classrooms and apartment.

Other than store checkout clerks and professors, I spoke with only two people while he'd been gone: my mom, because I knew she'd freak out if I didn't call her regularly, and Emmett, because the fucker actually had heard from Jasper. Not that he told me anything, other than that Jasper was all right and figuring things out and didn't want to speak with me. When I asked him why Jasper would speak to him and no to me, he got pissed.

"I don't know, Edward. I have no fucking idea what you did to him this time, because he refuses to talk about it. All I know is that he's safe. And that he wants you to stop trying to contact him."

"But I didn't do anything!" I protested. "When we went to bed everything was all right, and then in the morning he was gone. I don't have a fucking clue what happened. I just need to talk to him, Emmett, please. Goddamn it, I deserve an explanation"

"Get the hell out of here, Edward. He knows how to reach you when he's ready to talk."

So I waited, because what other choice did I have? I replayed in my head the events of that day, that weekend, over and over, trying to figure out what went wrong and when, but I didn't see anything. I told him I wanted to be with him, he told me he always wanted to be with me too, we slept together... Fuck! There just wasn't anything there to make him run and hide out of town. It had to be something else. But what? If he needed money or anything else, I would find a way to help him, but I needed to talk to him first. And that was the one thing I could not do, because he refused to accept any contact from me.

I wallowed in my misery, drank to dull the pain, and studied as much as I could in my permanent state of semi-drunken haze. A few more days later there was a knock on the door. I figured Jas would have come in with his key and I didn't want to see anyone else, so I didn't bother answering. The knock repeated, louder and more insistent.

"Edward, are you in there? It's Emmett. I have Jasper's key so if you don't open up I'm coming in anyway."

My head snapped up. Emmett had Jasper's key? Did that mean that he'd seen Jasper, knew where he was? Was Jasper back in Seattle? I rose up off the sofa, my head throbbing and fuzzy. I swayed a little on my feet, trying to gain my balance. When I finally steadied myself I walked slowly to the front door just as I heard a key turning in the lock.

I yanked open the door to find a surprised Emmett.

"So you are here. Why the hell didn't you answer?"

"You've seen Jasper?" I asked, not bothering to invite him in.

"No," Emmett shook his head. "Jasper's not coming back. He asked me to come over to pack up his stuff and ship it back to his mom's house."

"He's in Forks?" I asked, confused. Why would Jasper go back to Forks? He hated Forks.

"No. He just asked me to send his stuff home to his mom and said that he's not coming back to Seattle. Now, will you let me in, or should I come back another time, maybe when you're gone. I wouldn't want to disturb you," his tone made it clear that he would have preferred to come back when I wasn't around, and not for my benefit, either. I thought about shutting the door in his face and telling him to come back another time, but what good would it do? This was Jasper's stuff and he had Jasper's key and I had no right to stop him from taking all of it out of the apartment. Emmett retrieved some boxes from the floor of the hallway and headed for Jasper's room, effectively ignoring my presence.

I closed the door and headed to the fridge to take out another beer, then went back to the couch. I couldn't believe that even his stuff hadn't been enough to bring Jasper back, that he had to send a proxy to pack it up for him. What the hell had I done to deserve such a cold shoulder? Of course I wanted him back, but I would take a call, voice mail, e-mail, anything. Hell, I'd even take a message delivered through the asshole packing the stuff in the bedroom if it meant I had some sort of an explanation. Jesus! He didn't leave town to get away from a guy that had been beating him, but he felt the need to leave town to get away from me? And after we'd had two great weeks together, after I stood at his side as he came out to his step father, after we'd had sex? No matter how hard I tried, I just didn't get it.

I'd thought about the sex a lot, because that was the only thing that had really changed between us. When I thought about it, though, I saw only good things. I took care to protect him against diseases, so he couldn't be mad about that. And he enjoyed it, I knew he did. He'd agreed to do it, asked me to do it. Hell, he even asked me for more at one point without any prompting from me. And we both came. So how could that be anything but something to be happy about, and to do again? My head ached and I felt like the biggest idiot in the world, or like someone had flipped the world over into some bizarro version of itself, because none of it made any sense to me at all.

I got up and walked to Jasper's bedroom, standing in the doorway, watching Emmett pack. He'd already packed up everything off the bookshelf and was emptying Jasper's desk drawers, which had never been that full to begin with. After that there'd be only the few things he left in his dresser, the clothes from his closet, and his bedding. and then the room would be empty again, just like when he left last year. Only this time he wouldn't even be down the hall. It had been torture going through this the first time, but at least then I knew what was happening and why. Fuck, the last time I told him to leave. This time everything was so different.

"So if he's not coming back, is he dropping out of school too?" Missing 2 weeks of a 10 week term would be hard enough to make up. There was no way he'd be able to Catch up if he came back any later.

Emmett shrugged his shoulders without looking at me and continued packing. Done with the desk drawers, he walked over to the dresser and started emptying those drawers as well. I was getting pissed, and I hated the way he was ignoring me. I walked to a spot between the dresser and the box and stood there, waiting for him to turn around. When he did he paused and looked at me warily.

"Edward, I just need to pack his stuff. Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, think carefully. You're no match for me on your best day, and especially not as drunk as you are right now."

"Fuck you, Emmett. I'm not afraid of you, but I don't want to fight you either. I just need to know what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you. I know you're used to ordering people around and getting your way all the time, especially with Jasper. But that's not gonna happen this time. Get it through your thick skull - he doesn't want to talk to you. Leave him the hell alone."

I burned with rage. Who the hell did this jerk think he was? He didn't know anything about me and Jasper. We had a bond that he couldn't ever touch, though I was sure he was trying his best to destroy it. I always knew he wanted Jasper for himself. I bet it drove him crazy when Jasper came back to me and chose to stay with me after leaving James. I bet he was the one who was causing all the trouble, bad mouthing me to Jasper, telling Jasper not to speak with me, encouraging him to stay away, feeding him all sorts of lies about me. Yes, the more I thought about it the more it started to make sense. That was the only possible explanation.

"You fucking asshole!" I shouted. "Why don't you leave him the hell alone and stop feeding him all the bullshit? Quit telling him stuff to keep him away from here. You think you know me? You don't know shit. You're just fucking jealous that he wants me and not you."

"Wait a minute," Emmett stared at me and shook his head. "Are you trying to say this is my fault? Are you actually implying that something I did freaked Jasper out enough to send him running out of town at the crack of dawn with no advanced planning? You have a lot of nerve! Of the two of us only one has a history of bossing Jasper around and telling him what to do like he was a fucking pet rather than a friend, only one of us ever berated and rejected him after he shared his biggest secret, only one of us ever tried to interfere with his other friendships, only one of us . . ."

My right fist was moving at his face before he had a chance to utter another word, but the alcohol dulled my perception enough to make me stumble in the process, so he easily evaded my blow and trapped my wrists in a vice-like grip.

"He won't tell me what you did to make him run, you pathetic piece of trash, but as shook up as he was that morning when he came to ask me to drive him to the airport, I know it was something really bad. Do you think I like the fact that something like this happened on my watch, while I was sleeping down the hall? That after everything that happened with James, I didn't protect Jasper well enough? That he actually felt he had to leave town and drop out of school to feel safe? That he didn't and still doesn't trust me enough to let me know what the hell went on? Jasper's my friend and he's one of the best people I know. I hate that because of you I won't be able to hang out with him anymore. And I hate that even now I suspect the reason he won't tell me anything is that he is still trying to protect you, because he knows what I would do to you if I knew for sure what I think happened actually happened.

"I had a bad feeling about this from the start. I should have never agreed to let him stay here with you. I just knew it would all end badly and he'd end up hurt all over again. But I knew how much he wanted to trust you and how much he wanted the two of you to be friends again, so I ignored my better judgment and now he's gone. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that. But I sure as hell don't have to forgive you and I would love a reason to kick your ass. So you'd better zip it and don't give me one, 'cause if you push me too far, by the time I'm done with you, you ain't gonna look so pretty."

Keeping his hands locked around my wrists, he forced me to walk backwards until I was back in the living room. He shoved me away from him and I lost my balance, falling on my ass.

"Now let me finish packing his stuff so I can get the hell out of here and never see you again," he said as he closed the door to Jasper's bedroom and locked it with a click.

I sat on the floor, rubbing the pain out of my wrists. He had a lot of fucking nerve, coming into my apartment and keeping me out of the room. Still, I didn't get up to do anything about it. I knew damn well I was in no shape to take him on, and what use would it do, anyway? It was just postponing the inevitable. It wasn't like if I threw Emmett out of the apartment it would make Jasper come back. He'd probably just send someone else to do the packing, like his mom, and that would be worse, because how could I possibly face her? Especially since she would probably know exactly why he left, and I'd still be ignorant.

Emmett's words kept ringing harshly in my ears. He'd been right about a lot of things. I did boss Jasper around and tried to get him to stop being friends with Em and Seth, and there was no denying what happened when he came out, but that was all in the past. I was different now. I accepted him, I cared about him, I wanted to be with him. I was even willing to tolerate Emmett and Seth for as long as I had to, until he realized he didn't need them anymore. And I had no idea what Emmett was thinking, but I hadn't done anything.

"I didn't do anything!" I shouted at the closed door. "I didn't do anything to him!"

There was no response, not that I expected any. Still, it felt like once again I was being shut out, unable to ask any questions or explain. I looked around, feeling like an idiot sitting there on the floor. I pushed myself up and went to my room, slamming the door behind me and sitting on the edge of the bed. I buried my face in my hands and the tears started to flow. I had no ability to control them, or the sobs that shook my body. "I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything," I kept repeating it over and over like a mantra. At some point, when I was no longer conscious of anything other than the single sentence replaying my mind, my body must have given up. I woke up curled up into the fetal position near the foot of the mattress, eyes swollen and burning. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I found Emmett had shoved Jasper's key under the door. The need for the bathroom forgotten, I turned and shuffled to Jasper's room, just to confirm what I already knew. As before, all signs of him, save the furniture, were gone.

Once Emmett took away all of Jasper's possessions, there was no reason anymore to be at the apartment. Where previously I hardly spent any time elsewhere, afterwards I could hardly stand to be home. Even though my only reminders of him were the sketch, some random toiletries that Emmett forgot to pack and the clothes that Jasper left in my bedroom the night he left, all of which were now hidden away in a box in the back of my closet, I still felt his presence everywhere. Or, more accurately, I felt his absence. Somehow my brain would not accept the fact that he was gone, and when I was home I would turn this way or that, expecting to see him, or I would hear something funny on TV and wait for him to laugh, but the laughter never came and he was never there.

It was worst at night, when I tossed and turned for hours, my body unable to find peace without him, and in the morning, when I woke up after finally falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion and with the help of alcohol or sleeping pills. Each morning started with that kernel of knowledge that I was alone, and it would spread, the pain bubbling up as if from some underground spring and spreading throughout my body and mind until I was flooded with the ache to overflowing, the excess forced out though my tear ducts not to alleviate, but only to make room for more.

It took nearly all the energy I had to drag myself out of bed every morning and into the shower. Each day I got dressed and left for campus, knowing I wouldn't return until late in the evening. I rented a locker at the campus gym and kept my school books there, so I could study without going home, either in the library or at the HUB or in empty classrooms. During the day I didn't drink, so on days when I was done studying early I would get my car and drive out to Mount Rainier and sit at a lookout point or take short hikes. My favorite days were the cloudy ones, when the peak was hidden and I had to drive through the layer of condensation until, hopefully, I finally broke through and reached the top where everything was sunny, as if the gray world below didn't even exist. Sometimes when I drove up or down the narrow, mountain road I thought about stepping on the accelerator and taking the turns at a speed that I knew would be dangerous. I thought about it the most when I drove through that layer of clouds, sometimes so thick I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of the car. It would have been so easy, and probably so quick. No one knew that I was there, so if the car went off into a ravine far away from hiking trails and was hidden by foliage, it might not be found for days, weeks or even years. It seemed like a good place to spend an eternity, becoming one with nature, except that the car would pollute the environment, like a giant piece of trash being dumped by some thoughtless human, and I just couldn't be the one responsible for that.

I spent the evenings drinking at various bars located more or less within walking distance of the apartment. In fact, I found the further I had to walk the better. It helped to fall into bed drunk and already partially exhausted. I got my aggression out on the pool table, slamming the stick into the defenseless ball, enjoying the satisfying crash of one ball into another. There'd be the occasional bar fight with another drunk patron, leaving me with a bloody lip or nose or a black eye, which always looked worse the next day and resulted in other students on campus giving me a wide berth wherever I went, but they were nothing serious, and the pain of the injuries was far more welcome than the other constant ache of missing the vital piece of me that had been Jasper.

The last time he'd been gone it had been bad, and I thought it was as bad as things could get. I was so wrong. It was so much worse this time, not knowing where he was or why he left, not being able to even get a glimpse of him or hear his voice. I continued to call and leave messages until his number was disconnected. I kept sending e-mails until they started bouncing back with messages that the address I was sending them to did not exist. He'd been erased from my life and I'd been completely helpless to do anything about it.

One afternoon I was sitting in a remote corner of the second floor of the library when it occurred to me that I hadn't spoken more than two words to a human being other than my mother in over a week. It was a stark thought. Shocking. I started to wonder if my mother really was the only person left to care about me and, if so, was that enough to matter whether I was around or not. In the past, when I'd heard people refer to their loved ones as their reasons for living, I dismissed it as romantic hyperbole, but now I realized that's exactly what Jasper had been for me. Now that he was gone, my life was pointless. I had no direction, didn't know what the hell I wanted to do with my future, had no one in my life to care about or who cared about me in any way – I was just taking up oxygen and precious resources that would be better used by someone else. The world would be better off without me in it. I would no longer be around to disappoint my father or worry my mother or piss off the queers. The local bars might miss my patronage, but it wasn't like they hadn't gotten more than their fair share of my money over the last few weeks. All of them except the Blue Eyed Dog, which I had steadfastly avoided because of Alice.

Alice. I suddenly remembered the last time I saw her, following me out of the bar to try to make some sort of peace. She irritated me and got on my last nerve, but if I was honest with myself, it was because much of what she had said was true, even though back then I wasn't ready to admit it. Alice would want to and deserved to know what happened with Jasper, even if telling her would most likely subject me to that caustic tongue of hers. But then nothing she said could possibly make me feel worse than I was already feeling. Plus, I suddenly had another idea and hope. She was the only person who knew everything that happened with me and Jasper before, so she had a unique insight into the whole situation. And in the past, she'd seen things in Jasper and me that I just hadn't been able to see. So maybe, just maybe, if I told her everything that happened with Jasper over the past two weeks, she would be able to figure out why the fuck Jasper left, and what I had to do to get him back.

Suddenly filled with excitement, I gathered my books and dropped them off at my locker in the gym before heading to the Dog. It was still early, so I got my favorite seat towards the back of the bar and was pleased to discover that Ray remembered my favorite poison, which appeared in a glass in front of me before I even had a chance to say hello. Time passed and the bar started filling up. I sat and drank quietly, waiting for the multicolored doll to arrive. Each time the door opened to let in another group of would be drunks I looked over, but never spotted the spiky black hair. That night, some of the ache I'd been feeling for weeks was replaced with frustration. I'd been avoiding The Dog so that I wouldn't run into her, and when I finally wanted to see her, she wasn't even there.

Undeterred, I went to the Dog again the following evening, much to the same result. Now I was getting pissed. I knew she was a regular, and when I used to hang out at the Dog there would never be a time when she'd missed two nights in a row. It was almost like fate or karma was laughing in my face, showing me that it was not yet done screwing with my life. As the bar was starting to close, I remembered Alice telling me that Walter knew where she lived and would give me her contact info if I needed it. I waited until he escorted out the last drunk other than me, and then asked if I could have her address. Walter looked at me carefully, squinting his eyes.

"She said I could give it to you if you ever asked," he said, clearly reluctant, " but. . ."

"But what?" I was agitated. "I wouldn't need it if she'd shown up the last couple of nights. If she said I could have it, then why the fuck don't you just give it to me?"

"What do you want it for?"

"None of your Goddamn business. That's between me and her."

"You're not gonna go over there tonight and cause trouble, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Now give me the damn address."

"I don't think so."

I huffed in frustration.

"Walt, I really fucking need to talk to her."

"Not at this hour, you don't. Tell you what, I'll be here at 2:00 in the afternoon tomorrow. Come back then, sober, and if you still want it I'll give you the address."

I was pissed, but I knew I had no options. It's not like in my current state I could beat the address out of him. Besides, he was right. I wasn't gonna go over there tonight anyway. I could wait a few more hours.

"Fine," I growled and brushed past him out the door. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"You do that, Edward," he called out after me. "And be careful going home, I heard there's some assholes around who like to gang up on drunks and homeless guys and use them as punching bags."

I stopped in my tracks and looked back.

"You saying I look like some hobo, Walter?"

"You've looked better," he evaded, "And all I'm saying is be careful."

I walked home, fuming. What the hell was Walter talking about? Okay, maybe laundry hadn't exactly been at the top of my priority list lately, and maybe the fighting, drinking and lack of sleep and food made me look a bit rough around the edges, but I fucking showered every day, didn't I? Even when I sure as fuck didn't feel like it? Well, okay, maybe I skipped a few mornings. Maybe this morning had been one of them. But, Jesus! I didn't fucking resemble a vagrant. At least not fucking yet.

I got home without any problems other than tripping over a crack in the sidewalk that had me landing on my right hand, twisting the wrist rather painfully. I took some painkillers before I fell into bed, hoping they would take care of the problem, then cursed myself as I tossed and turned, thinking that the now dulled throbbing pain would have been a welcome distraction from my other ever present mental torture. I fell asleep somewhere near dawn, as usual, and woke up to the more persistent ache that let me know in no uncertain terms that the medicine had worn off. This time I didn't bother to take more pills. I just got into the shower and washed myself as best as I could with the left hand before getting dressed and heading off to class.

By the end of my first lecture even I couldn't stand it. I would have gone to the health center, but I'd already experienced their brand of helpfulness last year, so I didn't bother. I just found a drug store closest to campus and bought some over the counter crap, taking several times the suggested dosage. After my last class was over I dumped my books in the locker and sat around the lounge in the HUB until it was time to go to the Dog to meet Walter. This time I wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Walt seemed surprised to see me, but he didn't put up much of a fuss, grudgingly writing down Alice's apartment address on a cocktail napkin. When he was done scribbling and I reached for it, he held it up above my head.

"Don't forget, I know you have this. Anything happens to that girl and I'll hold you responsible."

I snatched the napkin with my left hand and glared at him.

"Nothing's gonna happen to her. I told you. I just need to talk to her."

"Fine. Tell her hello from me. And that we've missed her these last few days."

After I walked out of the bar I looked at the address. It was pretty close, another apartment complex that, like ours, mostly catered to the college crowd. It took me about 10 minutes walking at a fast clip to reach her building, and another two to get upstairs to her door. I knocked, hoping she'd be home. I hadn't really thought of what I would do if she wasn't there. I guessed I could hang out in the parking lot for a while, or come back later. Before I could think more, though, I heard a tentative "who is it?" from the other side of the door. The voice did not sound like Alice.

"My name is Edward. I'm a friend of Alice's. Is she here?"

There was a sound on the other side that sounded like a choked cry. I heard a security chain slip in place and then a lock turned and the door opened a crack. The girl whose face I saw through the crack was roughly my age, medium-height, brunette with hazel eyes that might have been pretty if they weren't swollen and red-rimmed. I'd been all too familiar with that look lately, but seeing it on someone else was unnerving, like looking at a funhouse mirror.

"Is Alice here?" I repeated.

"Did you say you were a friend of hers?" she asked.

"Yeah, we hang out at the Blue Eyed Dog together sometimes," for some reason I felt the need to re-assure this girl, who I assumed was Alice's roommate, that I was really a friend, not some stalker. But the only thing I could come up with that Alice and I had in common was the bar. Pathetic. It seemed to do the trick, though. The girl nodded, almost to herself, then looked up at me again.

"I guess you haven't heard?"

I shook my head, confused.

"I'm really sorry. Alice is gone."

There was something very sorrowful about her voice, but I chalked it up to whatever it was that had her weeping.

"Okay. Do you know when she'll be back?"

Her eyes snapped wide open in surprise then filled with understanding and more tears.

"She won't be back," she said. "Alice is gone forever."

I furrowed my brow. Was it possible that the only two people of any importance to me in this town would choose to move away at the same time?

"Gone forever? Why? Where did she go? Do you have her new contact information?"

The girl burst into tears and started sobbing. I felt completely helpless, unable to do anything through the door crack.

"Hey, whatever it is, I'm really sorry. Look, I see I caught you at a bad time. I don't mean to bother you. If you could just give me her phone number or e-mail address . . ."

Fresh sobs ripped through the girl, and then she finally calmed herself and looked up at me again. She seemed to be weighing a decision, and then suddenly she was closing the door.

"Wait," I called out. "I just need," I stopped when I heard the sound of the security chain slipping out of its cradle. Moments later the door opened.

"It just didn't seem right to keep talking to you about this through the door crack," she explained. "I'm really sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, and that I'm doing such a horrible job of it, but there is no information I can give you. When I said she was gone, I meant really gone. She . . . she died. Two days ago. I'm so sorry."

My legs suddenly felt weak. She couldn't have just said what I thought I heard her say. It made no sense.

"No. That can't be right. It's not possible," I protested.

She started crying again.

"I'm so very sorry. I'm going to miss her too. So much."

"But," my mind was reeling. I still didn't believe it. "But she was the most alive person I knew. She was young. How? How can she be gone? What happened?"

I looked up at her in alarm. It suddenly occurred to me that Alice lived a very risky lifestyle. She often went home with guys she barely knew, two at a time. Did she misjudge someone? I didn't know what I would do if someone had hurt her.

"We didn't realize. She wasn't feeling well. Some aches, soreness, a stiff neck, she thought she was getting the flu. She took some Tylenol and went to bed and I went out. I made her tea and I offered to stay but she said she was going to sleep anyway and it didn't seem serious. I didn't check on her when I came home. It was late and I didn't want to wake her. The next morning," she choked on a sob and stared to cry uncontrollably. I didn't know what to do. As much as I needed to know what happened, I couldn't badger her. I stepped forward and put my arms around her, pulling her to my chest. I didn't know what to say so I just held her, moving my hand over her back in what I hoped was a soothing motion.

It took a few minutes, but eventually she cried herself out. She continued to cling to me, though.

"Should we go inside?" I finally asked her. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Okay," she said weakly against my chest. Reluctantly, she pulled away from me and turned around, leading the way into the living room. I closed the door behind me and followed her to the couch, where I sat down beside her.

"My name is Bree," she said. "Alice and I have been friends since our Junior year of high school. When we knew we were both coming here we decided to room together. She was a good roommate, and a better friend," Bree started crying again, so I shifted closer and pulled her into my chest again. My shirt was already soaked with her tears so it's not like this fresh batch would make any difference, and if I had to be honest, having her in my arms was as much of a comfort to me as it was to her. I still couldn't believe Alice was dead.

"What happened the next morning?" I prompted after she quieted down.

"She had a fever. I could barely get her awake. I got scared and called 911. They got here quickly and took her to the hospital, but it was too late. She died shortly after they arrived at the hospital, before her family could even get there."

"Oh my God, what was it?" Even with a doctor for a father I couldn't imagine what could have killed a healthy young girl so quickly.

"Bacterial meningitis," Bree said. I must have looked confused because she continued. "It's an inflammation in the brain and spinal cord. It can be treated with antibiotics if it's diagnosed early enough, but we didn't know. Why didn't I make her go see a doctor when she first started getting sick? If she did she'd probably still be alive," she sank into my chest and started sobbing again. I didn't know what to say. It must have been horrible for her to find her roommate dying. That was bad enough. But to know that she could have lived if someone recognized the signs earlier? No wonder she was so distraught.

It was another few minutes before Bree finally pulled away from me.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I just can't stop crying. I've been with her family all day yesterday, but I had to come home to try to get it together for the wake tonight."

"There's a wake?" I asked.

"Yeah, in Bothell. That's where we're from. Would you like to go?"

I nodded before I even had a chance to think about it. I had to go see her again, remind myself that she had been real. I couldn't believe that the girl who had been so full of energy could have been taken so easily by a treatable illness. I wondered if it would have made a difference if I had started looking for her earlier. Maybe if she had been with me instead of wherever she was where she picked up this bacteria, she would have been fine. Or maybe she could have given the bacteria to me and now I'd be gone too.

Bree got up and brought me a card with Alice's wake and funeral information printed on it. The wake started at 5:00.

"Do you need a ride?" I asked Bree, thinking it would be nice to know someone when I showed up at the funeral home, but Bree shook her head no.

"My boyfriend's taking me. He'll be here to pick me up soon."

That was as good a reason as any for me to be on my way.

"I'll be there tonight. Maybe I'll see you," I told her as I got up and headed for the door.

"Bree," I started, then hesitated a moment before continuing. "Don't blame yourself. She wouldn't have wanted you to. It wasn't your fault."

Bree nodded. "I know. Alice would have told me to shut up and stop being such a sniveling baby," She laughed sadly. I joined her, because that sounded exactly like something Alice would say. "Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder, Edward."

"No problem. Anytime."

I still had quite some time before I had to drive out for the wake. I certainly did not want to be one of the first people there and have to explain to anyone how I knew Alice. Once the funeral home was filled, as I was sure it would be, a simple 'friend from school' explanation would suffice.

I decided to go back to the Dog. I figured Walt would want to know what happened, and probably some of the other staff as well. I remembered what Walt said about anything happening to Alice, but I figured he couldn't blame me for a medical condition that took her days ago. He didn't, which was a relief, but not a surprise. What was a surprise were the wrecking sobs that shook his huge body after we sat down at one of the tables in the front of the bar and I told him what happened.

"She built this tough shell for herself. All the tattoos and piercings and the tough talk – it was all an armor to protect herself from the world. Underneath it all she was the sweetest girl," Walt spoke, choking with sobs. "I was always worried with her and all those guys. She was careful, but still, what she was doing wasn't completely safe. I was afraid one of those nights a guy or two would take things too far and hurt her. She was such a tiny thing. I never imagined anything like this."

"I know," I commiserated. "This kind of thing isn't supposed to happen to people our age. The world is a fucked up place."

"Ain't that the truth," Walt said, a little calmer, wiping his tears on his shirt sleeve. He looked at the card with the wake and funeral information.

"I've got to work tonight, so I can't go to the wake. I might go to the funeral, though, at least the church service. You?"

I shook my head.

"I have classes tomorrow, so I'm going tonight."

Walt glanced at his watch. "You drive over here?" I shook my head. "Well, you got a bit of time before you have to head out there. Should we do a shot in her honor or something?"

I nodded. Walt went to the bar and got us two shots, bringing them back to our table. We tipped the glasses back quickly and then just looked at each other silently for a while before I got up and left for my apartment.

When I got home I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked horrible, but at least I showered that morning and put on relatively clean clothes. I would have changed, but I hadn't done laundry in over two weeks and there were few clean things to choose from, none of them any more appropriate for a wake than what I was already wearing. Oh, well. I wasn't going over there to impress anyone, or even to talk to anyone. Just to say goodbye to a girl who actually tried to help me get my head on straight. Or bi, I thought with a small smirk. Then I smiled even more, knowing Alice would have appreciated the joke. And then I frowned, remembering again that now she was gone, and I was really and truly alone.

I got to the funeral home by six and sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, watching as new arrivals filed in. As expected, there were a lot of young people. What struck me about them all was how normal and clean-cut they all looked. It's not that I was expecting a circus freak show, but it seemed unusual to me that none of the people going in seemed to share Alice's penchant for tattoos and piercings. I shrugged, thinking I didn't fit into that category either. Maybe the pierced and tattooed crowd was going to show up later, en masse.

I opened the car door and slowly walked to the building, dreading the experience but needing it all the same. As sick as it sounded, I really hoped for an open casket. I needed to see, one last time, the little freak girl who tried to convince me just because we were different didn't mean we were wrong or defective.

The scene inside the funeral home was pretty somber. Towards the front of the room, a woman dressed in a tasteful black ensemble cried quietly into a shoulder of a stone faced man. Two teenage boys sat to the right of the woman, clearly uncomfortable in their formal suits, but equally clearly trying to bear the discomfort as best they could without complaint. I had to assume these were Alice's parents and brothers, whose names were printed on the information card.

The room was otherwise filled with groups of people either sitting or standing together, talking quietly. There were groups of people her parents' age, and groups of younger people, probably Alice's friends from school. I spotted Bree in one of those groups, leaning against a blond guy with a short, dark hair who, I assumed, was the boyfriend she mentioned earlier. I waited for a bit, hoping to catch her eye to let he know I arrived, but she was focused on the girls she was speaking with and I didn't want to interrupt by joining the group and forcing a round of awkward introductions.

Near the door to the room stood two tri-pod stands, each holding a poster board covered with a collage of pictures. I walked up to them to see photos of a girl taken throughout most of her life. Alice as a baby. Alice riding a pony at a fair as a toddler. Alice on her first day of school at the bus stop, about to get onto the yellow bus. Alice holding her baby brother. Alice at a 9th birthday party with a bunch of other girls. Alice in a cheerleading uniform. Alice in her high school senior photo. Alice at prom, standing next to a lanky kid that was way too tall for someone with her petite frame, Alice at her high school graduation . . . It struck me that the only reason I knew the girl in all these photos was Alice was because of the captions. This girl looked nothing like the Alice I knew; the dark, edgy, original Alice. The Alice that would never blend into a typical crowd. The Alice that would have looked on the girl in these photos with scorn or, at best, pity. I wondered why none of the photos showed that Alice, the adult Alice, but then I guessed that the adult Alice was not one to sit for photographs.

I looked towards the front of the room again. The crowd had thinned some and I had the perfect view of the casket. It was open, and there were only a couple of people standing next to it. I decided this was the perfect time to go up to pay my respects, and then leave before anyone even noticed I was here, not that they were likely to notice or bother me even if they did. Still, slipping in and out quietly seemed like the right thing to do for someone who, realistically, barely knew the deceased.

I walked to the front of the room weaving around several groups of conversing friends and family. I stood close enough to the casket to make it clear that I was in line to step up, but far enough to give the couple standing right next to Alice privacy. At the wakes I'd been to before, I always hated this part. Standing over someone's corpse seemed horribly morbid and disrespectful, the exact opposite of what it was supposed to represent. But now, with someone I barely knew compared to the other people whose wakes I'd attended, this last viewing suddenly seemed like a moral imperative. Like it would be the very worst thing in the world to let her go without saying goodbye.

The couple in front of me moved off to the side and suddenly it was my turn to see her. I took a deep breath and walked up to the ornately decorated wooden box that held her body. I looked down, not knowing what to expect, but what I saw shocked me more than anything I could have imagined. The person lying in the padded confines was not Alice. Yes, it was the girl in all the photos on the collage boards at the entrance, but it was not Alice. All of her piercings had been removed. Her tattoos had been covered up with a thick layer of make-up. Her clothes, demure and conservative, were nothing I'd ever seen her wear, and even her eyes and lips were covered in shades that I'm sure she hadn't seen for years, if ever. If I hadn't seen the collages, I wouldn't have known who this was at all. She was completely unrecognizable. The meningitis may have killed her body, but this - this was killing her spirit. Not accidentally, either. This was a willing and wanton stripping of everything Alice did to be her own person. Jesus!

I looked back at her family and saw them in an entirely new light. I knew it was wrong, but for the first time I wondered if they were really sorry she was gone. Were they mourning Alice, or this clean-cut preppy daughter they wish she had been? Did they cry just as much when she'd come home while still alive, potentially destroying their perfect WASP family image? Did they even bother to find out why she did the things she did? Did they even know what she did when she was at school? Or had they just rejected her and were only able to let her back in the family like this, a wax statue of a perfect Stepford child.

I stared at them, filled with rage for robbing her of her dignity and identity in death, and for their cruelty while she was still alive. Now I finally understood why she and I were drawn to each other that first night at the Dog.

As if sensing my gaze, her mother lifted her head and our eyes locked for a moment. I held her eyes captive and I knew she could feel every bit of my anger before a huge sob escaped her, and she collapsed against her husband's chest. He looked down at her, startled out of his vacant stupor, then looked over at me. His eyes narrowed and he tried to rise, but she gripped his jacket tightly, making it impossible for him to stand. He said something to her in a low tone of voice, then turned to speak to the older boy sitting with them. They both stood and the boy took the father's place while the father strode towards me determinedly. I stood my ground defiantly, glaring at him. This guy didn't intimidate me. He was too worried about his precious image to do anything to me in this room full of people. I let him come right up to me, his face inches from mine.

"I don't know who you are, but I don't appreciate you coming in here at this time of grief and upsetting my wife even more than she already is," he spoke in a low, politely menacing tone. He wasn't touching me at all, but his stance was anything but relaxed. I was sure anyone watching us would be able to sense the tension, even without hearing what we were saying.

"I didn't do anything to your wife. I haven't even spoken to her. If she's upset, maybe it's because she's feeling guilty, but I had nothing to do with the cause,"

"Guilty? You little punk! Who the hell are you? I've never seen you before, and you come in here making accusations against my family? My wife has nothing to feel guilty about."

"Really? Well, then maybe it was your idea to turn your daughter into some sort of a mannequin after her death?"

For a moment he was taken aback, but he quickly recovered.

"What makes you think you have the right to come in here and tell me anything about my daughter?"

"How about the fact that I knew her and respected her for who she really was? Respected the choices she made? This body you've fashioned over there," I said pointing to the coffin, "that's some fantasy version of Alice that you had in your heads. That's not the real Alice. When she was alive, Alice was a special, independent, unique woman, and now she's dead you've turned her into a generic cyborg with no evidence of her real personality. Like a bunch of scavengers, you stripped her of everything she chose to make herself stand out from everyone else."

I watched his face redden as his rage level built up to meet mine. I knew I'd pushed him too far, but I was too far gone myself to care. Sure, he lost his daughter, but from the looks of it he must have had some time to get used to that idea, since it sure as fuck seemed to me he felt he lost her when she stopped behaving like the perfect little suburbanite her family wanted her to be. I lost her too, dammit, and they robbed me of my chance to say goodbye to the only version of Alice I knew - the version she wanted to be.

"That's it, you've said more than enough. Time to go, buddy," he grabbed my elbow and tried to steer me towards the door. I shook him off.

"Don't touch me," I hissed. From the corner of my eye I saw that other people had taken note of our exchange, and several men were heading in our direction. I knew I was outnumbered, and with my injured right wrist I wasn't much of a threat, anyway. "I can find my own way out. I don't want to be part of this farce anyway," I spoke the last part loud enough for others to hear, then walked away in the opposite direction from the oncoming men. As I exited the room, I swept my arm over the collages, knocking them off their stands. I heard a vague "Hey," yelled by someone in protest, but I didn't even pause, just kept walking out to my car. I unlocked the door with the remote and yanked it open. I was about to get in when I heard "Edward, wait!"

I turned to see Bree walking towards me at a fast clip. "Wait," she said again as she caught up with me and placed a hand on my upper arm. Behind her, the guy she'd been standing with came out of the building and looked in our direction uncertainly. He didn't move forward right away, seemingly content to stay back and evaluate the situation.

"Are you all right? What was that all about?" Bree said with concern.

"I'm fine," I snapped, still angry. "I can't believe they just, just, erased her like that. You're her roommate. You know what she was like. How could they do that? How could you let them?"

"It's not like I had a choice," she was offended. "And does it really matter? She's dead. Do you think she'd care about any of this?" she swept her arm towards the funeral home.

"I don't think she'd give a damn about the wake or anyone in that room, but yeah, I think she'd be pissed as all hell about what they did to her."

"It's not like I had a choice," she repeated, looking down at the ground. Then she looked back up at me. "Her parents hated all the tattoos and piercings. I don't even know if they knew about the other stuff she did, or just assumed the worst. They were afraid she was going to be a bad influence on her brothers. They didn't want her coming home looking the way she did. The last couple of years, they came out to see her at school, without her brothers. She never went home. But I would sometimes pick up Jeff and Aaron and bring them somewhere to hang out with her for an afternoon. We kept it a secret. It's hard for the boys now, because they can't admit that they just saw her a couple of weekends ago. The three of them couldn't see each other as often as they'd like, but they were still close." Bree began to cry anew. I would have wrapped my arms around her the way I did at her apartment, but I figured that wasn't the best idea with the boyfriend keeping watch.

"They're not bad people, Edward, they just didn't understand her."

I snorted. "I bet they didn't even try. As soon as she broke out of that cookie cutter mold they had made for her, they figured she was a lost cause."

"They still came to see her," Bree pointed out again. "They paid for her school."

"Because how would they explain to their perfect friends if they didn't try to at least rehabilitate their freak child? I bet after she graduated, though, if she still refused to toe the line, that contact would stop too."

Although I rejected Bree's defense of Alice's parents out loud, inside I had to acknowledge that maybe they were better than I originally thought. I could only imagine my father's reaction if I showed up on his doorstep looking like the Alice I knew, or if I told him that I loved and had sex with Jasper. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd kick me out of the house without a dime, and I'd be lucky if I didn't get my ass kicked first. Alice had been wrong. We were different and we didn't fit. We were square pegs in a world of round holes. At least she was done with that now.

I had the overwhelming urge to turn and smash my fist into something, but the painkillers I'd taken earlier were wearing off and my wrist was throbbing painfully enough that I couldn't stomach any more self-inflicted pain. Instead, I turned back to the car and got in.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Bree," I said, pulling the door closed. I started the car and pulled out, leaving her standing in the parking lot.

By the time I got home my emotions had run the gamut from fury to despair. It was all so horrible. Jasper was gone. Alice was gone. I had no other friends. My father already hated me, and he would for sure disown me if he ever found out I had sex with another man. My mother loved me but she'd do what Dad told her to do, even if it meant never having anything to do with me again. There just wasn't any point to anything anymore. The only thing I could think of is how it should have been me instead of Alice infected by the damned bacteria. It sounded so easy. Healthy one day, some aches and pain and then death. The perfect way out. At least it would be, if I could only figure out how to get sick. But, of course, this was my life, and since nothing ever went right for me, I was perfectly healthy, and would probably stay that way until I reached 100, miserable all along the way.

I swallowed another handful of painkillers and washed them down with a beer. No point in adding needless pain to my misery. Not when there was a whole lifetime of pain and misery to look forward to. Might as well pace it out. I drained another beer bottle, and another. I looked around the empty, silent apartment, reminding myself why I hated to spend time here anymore. I grabbed my wallet, phone and keys, and headed for the furthest neighborhood bar. I was determined to drink myself into oblivion, and this way if any of the haze wore off on the way back home, there'd be other bars to stop into for a re-fill.

The bar that I stared out at wasn't my favorite. It was full of gym rats and the air was filled with testosterone. It might have been a place I liked back when I was in high school and training for football, although even then I never bulked up like these guys did. Now I stood out here like a sore thumb and felt so Goddamn uncomfortable, I left after only a couple of shots. I heard someone say "good riddance, and don't let any other faggots in tonight," as I was leaving, and I nearly turned around to start something, but then I realized how outnumbered I'd be and how in my current state I was in no shape to take on even one of these guys, so I just kept on walking.

The next bar was a college hang-out where I felt much more at ease. I nursed a beer until a seat opened up at the bar. I grabbed it, placed some money in front of me and told the bartender to keep serving JD shots until my tab ran out, setting one bill away from the others for his tip. For the rest of the night he kept pouring and I kept drinking. He tried to engage me in conversation a couple of times, but I didn't feel like talking, and my one-word responses must have been enough of a clue that eventually he left me alone. I kept my eyes on the bar as I drank and tried to shut out the sounds of the other kids, laughing and partying. Every once in a while someone would bump my chair with a "Sorry, man. Crowded," which momentarily jarred me out of my stupor, but for the most part the world was losing it's edges and falling out of focus. Exactly what I'd been hoping for. By sheer coincidence the bartender rapped on the bar in front of me and said "last one" as he poured just as obnoxiously loud dance music came on, the thump of the base making my brain and bones rattle. I threw back the shot and slid off the stool, muttering a "thanks" over my shoulder in the direction of the bartender, and walking out of the bar on slightly unsteady feet.

I debated with myself about the next bar as I walked there, hanging close to the buildings on the way just as a precaution. It was a bit of a redneck joint, which was good and bad. Good, because the country music they preferred to listen to didn't make my head throb as much as all the dance crap. Bad, because these assholes always seemed to be a little hot under the collar, and nightly fistfights were part of the entertainment. That was fine, most evenings, if your reflexes were good enough to get out of the way when stray fists came at you. I just wasn't sure if tonight I was up to the task. And as much as I might welcome some asshole bludgeoning me into oblivion, I knew the bouncers would step in and break things up before that happened, so all I'd have to show for the night would be some new bruises, aches and pains. Now if I got into something outside of the bar, in the back parking lot, perhaps, out of the sight of the bouncers . . .

I walked around to the back of the bar to check out the parking lot. Nope, no one fighting. Just a guy and a girl groping against the side of a pick-up. I was about to walk back to the front door, when I heard "Stop it, Riley. I said no!"

I paused, debating what to do. My mind was very hazy, so it was taking a while for each thought to formulate. I'd never been a knight in fucking shining armor, rescuing damsels in distress. On the other hand, I knew that when a girl said stop, a guy should stop. Plenty of other skanks out there who'd be begging for it - no need to force anyone. From the sound of it, this dude never learned that lesson. Problem was, tonight I was in no shape to teach it to him. But what if I didn't have to teach him? What if it was enough to just distract him and give the girl a chance to take off? Yeah, I probably wouldn't look pretty in the morning, but the girl would be all right and, if I was lucky, maybe this would be the guy to deliver that blow that would fucking put me out of my misery forever.

I pivoted and took a few steps closer to them. I saw that Riley had his mouth clamped tightly over the girl's lips, so she couldn't say no if she tried.

"Are you deaf, Riley? She said no. She's clearly looking for more than the likes of you to give it up to," I slurred, loud enough for him to hear. He stopped kissing her and looked around at me. The girl stared at me, wide eyed. She looked really scared. It made me glad I stepped in.

Riley gave me a dismissive once-over. "Get the fuck out of here, asshole. This is none of your business."

"From what I see, it's none of yours either. It's pretty obvious she doesn't want anything to do with you. She probably felt that nothing you're trying to shove against her leg to impress her, and is thinking that she'd get more satisfaction using her eyeliner pencil."

Riley blinked at me and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing. He turned around and took a step towards me, freeing the girl in the process. She looked completely shell-shocked, though, and remained rooted in place. Adrenaline was kicking in for me, and everything was starting to get clearer.

"You little fucker. Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Yeah, I know I used big words, so let me say it a different way. I think your girl, over there, wants a real man between her legs. Trust me, if she felt what I got she'd never stop begging for more."

Riley looked at me again.

"You think you're more of a man than me?" he asked incredulously. I was actually amused at how slow this guy was on the uptake. Most jerks would have pounded me into the pavement by now.

"Fuck yeah, and I can prove it to you too. Just drop your pants, bend over and spread your ass, and I'll show you exactly what a real man feels like. You won't stop begging me for more either."

That did it. Riley advanced on me quickly with a murderous look and his fists went flying. Instinctively, I tried to protect my face and my ribs, but he was bigger and stronger and he had me on the sidewalk in no time flat. I could taste blood in my mouth and one of my teeth felt loose. My ribs and chin were sore from where I'd taken a few punches. This would have been a good time to shut the fuck up and play 'possum, but that wouldn't accomplish my purpose.

"Is that the best you got, pussy?" I taunted when I saw Riley intended to walk away.

He turned around and stood over me, disbelief etched all over his face.

"Are you fucking stupid? Haven't you had enough?"

"Shit, you even fight like a girl."

He stared down at me, undecided. What a stupid fuck. He had no problem forcing himself on a girl, but he worried about kicking me while I was down? Shit! Why did everything have to be so hard? I was about to goad him some more when I heard new voices.

"What's going on, man? One of these homeless drunks giving you trouble? We've been trying to clean up the neighborhood, but I guess the fuckers haven't gotten the message yet."

Riley frowned.

"I don't know if he's homeless. He's some sort of a fag, though, and stupid as shit. He tried to pick a fight with me." He emphasized the last word, as if that was enough to illustrate my stupidity. I tried to turn my head to get a look at the men he was talking to, but before I could I felt a booted kick into my side. It wasn't a gentle kick, and I grunted with pain and surprise.

"Fucking fags," A second voice spat out. "That's the last thing we need. Isn't Capitol Hill enough for them? Let's show this jerk what we think of him and his kind."

"Ah, guys?" Riley was hesitant. "I think I did enough. I don't need to put him in the fucking hospital. What if he presses charges?"

"Charges," the other men laughed as more kicks landed on my body. "By the time we're done with him he'll be lucky if he remembers how to speak. He won't be in any shape to press charges even if he knew who we were."

Suddenly everything went black as a boot connected with my head. I heard a ringing in my ears and there were flashes of light. I vaguely felt other blows or kicks, but it was almost as though they were being experienced by someone else. I drifted in and out of awareness, occasionally feeling a flash of blinding pain that would knock me out again. At moments I felt calm, almost peaceful, hopeful that this was the end I'd been wishing for. Other moments the pain jarred me and I tried to move to shield myself from the attackers, with limited success. Vaguely, like through a thick fog, I heard shouting, though I couldn't make out individual words. The noise got closer and the blows ceased. No, I thought, this is exactly what I didn't want. Come back, you motherfuckers! Finish what you started!

I heard sirens wailing in the distance, then getting closer and closer. I heard moaning that seemed almost other-worldly.

"Oh, Shit! Oh my God! Hey, are you okay? Can you talk?" it was a man's voice. I thought about trying to answer, but it didn't seem worth the bother. I felt someone moving me slightly, big fingers pressing against my neck. "There's a pulse," it was the same voice. There was something about it that needled at the edges of my memory, but everything in my head was too fuzzy to make any connections. "Oh, my God, it's Edward! Edward? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Edward?" The sound of my name focused me for a moment, and then I realized that whoever was saying my name, it wasn't the voice I wanted to hear, and I drifted off again.

Suddenly there were more people around me. I was laying on something that was being moved. I heard the moaning again.

"Edward Cullen," the familiar voice spoke through the fog again. " . . . neighbor . . . go with him. . ."

I knew I was only hearing parts of the conversation. I tried to open my eyes, to get my bearings, but it took too much effort. It was far easier to stop fighting and give into the blackness, so that's exactly what I did.

I know, that was kind of an evil way to end the chapter. I promise I will post the next installment as soon as it's ready.