Saints who Died as Children.pdf

The Black Balloon Contest

Title: Saints who Died as Children

Your pen name: YellowGlue

Characters: Edward/Bella

Link:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5854566/1/Saints_who_Died_as_Children

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Part ONE.

June 13th, 2009

At night, though half a world away, I still hear your sleep-sounds in several

shades. The intake of air softer when you are satisfied. The grinding body

machinery back to normal…

Remembering how warm you are in my arms, and how defenseless you are while

you sleep never fails to make me cry.

I cannot bear the thought of you in someone else's arms, yet imagining you alone

is unbearable.

I do not think San Francisco and I will be friends again. We share too many

troubles.

August 26th, 2008

It could have been any day.

I'd been living in California for a little over a year and working at the 1348 station

on Judah Street just as long. I'd applied for a transfer and taken the first one that

came along. I couldn't have cared less where it sent me, so long as it meant

leaving Rose and Forks, and my heart and my pride miles behind. She wasn't the

first, but she was the one who concreted my perception that all women were

natural born liars, into a solid belief. I was barely 26, but had my fill of love and

all its sticks and stones for a good long while.

I threw myself into the move; into three easy boxes, and then when I arrived in

sunny San Francisco, I threw everything into my work. I modeled myself both

consciously, and not, after one of the older men on my team; Phil – because

there was a man that had his shit together.

Phil had a wife, but he didn't carry typical married-life-drama around with him.

He did what he was told by the Captain, never complained about anything, even

when he got the short end of the stick. He brought in a decent salary which he

didn't hesitate to share on occasion with charities, drove a nice new hybrid, was

an awesome point-guard, volunteered for local causes when he could and was a

strong and dependable guy to have on your side when you went running into a

burning building. You were thankful he was the man watching your back and you

were glad; proud even, to be the man watching his.

Phil saved lives.

Phil was a genuinely good man.

As the weeks and months of completely un-Forks-like heat passed, I added

furniture and electronics to my three eventually unpacked boxes of clothes and

books, and Phil, Emmett and I quickly became friends. We worked well together;

on two days then off two days, and would hang out some of the nights we all

happened to have off together.

Summer was finally coming to an end, and the temperature was starting to drop

a begrudging degree or two at a time. The sun was high and swimming through

blue, and Phil and I had just finished lunch and were heading for the dock. He'd

just last night got this boat he'd been saving for and was eager to take it out, but

as we went to pay the check, he remembered he'd forgotten his key.

Phil was always doing shit like that; having something in his hand one minute,

then setting it down and forgetting just moments later where he'd put it. It was

his one flaw.

So we got in my car and headed back to his place, which I'd been to just a few

times. It was a nice house and his wife Renee, she was nice too. A little flighty-

seeming, but harmless enough. Polite. It seemed like a good place to come home

to.

I stood waiting in his kitchen, looking patiently at the pictures of him and Renee

that were stuck with magnets to the fridge, while he went from room to room and

eventually up the stairs in search of the single key. I heard footfalls coming back

down soon, and laughed to myself. That was the quickest he'd ever found

anything he'd misplaced.

I turned expecting to see Phil grinning and dangling a floaty key chain from his

fingers, but what I saw instead was this sweetsad waif of a girl. Eyes wide and

almost afraid looking. Fingers twisting and twirling nervously through long,

brunette-almost-black hair.

"Umm… hi?" I spoke, quite confused.

"Hi," she replied, looking me up and down like she was sizing me up for a fight,

almost like she wanted to throw a swing at me. "Who are you?"

"I'm Edward. I work with Phil. Who are you?"

She pulled her lips up to the side in a kind of pout – kind of sneer, but didn't

answer. Phil had never mentioned having a daughter. I recognized the crest on

her navy cardigan as Blessed Francisco Marto, and I realized I'd never seen Phil

donate any of his time or money to that school. Before I could ask again or ask

any further questions though, Phil was behind her, still empty handed.

"What are you doing home?" There was a harsh and all-unfamiliar grit in his

voice, his tone bordering accusatory and she dropped her head quickly, moved

across the kitchen, and arbitrarily opened the refrigerator.

"I had a doctor's appointment. Mom said I could stay home the rest of..."

"Of course she did," Phil interrupted her small voice, moved past her, pulled open

drawers and cabinets and rifled through them. I doubted the key was in with the

silverware or behind the Cheerios, but you never know…

I stood still, quiet and confused, and watched as she stood up on the tiptoes of

her black patent leather shoes to reach high for a glass. I tried to remember what

girls called those, Mary Janes maybe? Was that right…?

"Sorry, Edward. This is Renee's daughter, Bella," he spoke as he walked back out

into the living room, still searching for the key. He came back in scratching his

head, eyes roaming. "Sorry. I didn't know she'd be here."

"It's all right," I spoke again, unsure exactly as to why he was apologizing.

"No. No, she should be in school. Bella would you get out of the kitchen and up to

your room please, I'm trying to get going here, and you're in the way."

More unfamiliar grit.

With her head still down and her thin fingers tight around the glass of apple juice

she'd only just poured, she walked past me swiftly. Didn't look up. Entered the

dining room. I glanced from my feet up to Phil, and not two seconds later heard

the thud of books on carpet, pages flapping.

"God dammit!" he grumbled, slammed shut the drawer, and turned to follow the

sound.

I could hear whispering - his, and I thought it was entirely too odd. I hesitated,

not wanting to pry on my friend, in his own home; but something moved inside

me, spoke through what could only be my nosy conscience, and told me to look,

to see what – if anything – I could see.

The textbooks were off the floor, and she was holding them against her chest.

Her body was turned slightly away from his to the left, in the direction of the

staircase, and her right heel was lifted, her weight resting on the ball of her foot.

Ready to step.

Ready to run.

Phil was still whispering, but I couldn't make out the words. She turned to move,

took the step her foot was impatient for, but he caught her elbow.

I squinted a little, felt my stomach twist. He whispered something else, leaned his

head down, made her look him in the eye as he slid his hand from her elbow up

her arm. Moved past the dark curtain of her hair, and opened his hand up flat on

the side of her neck. His fingers near her ear. His thumb moving across her jaw

line. Gently.

He whispered some more, but let her go when she turned toward the stairs the

next time. I quickly turned back to face the fridge, to the pictures of him and his

wife, smiling for the camera. Not a single picture of Bella anywhere to be seen.

Phil returned just minutes later, finally having found his key on the seat of one of

the dining room chairs. We left then. We drove to the pier, and eventually got out

onto the water and I finally picked and asked one of the hundreds of questions

boiling in my brain about his daughter. He was quick to correct me and then

change the subject rather casually.

"No, I haven't actually adopted her; the red tape wrapped around that system is

egregious. Hey, check this out..."

He flipped some switch that caused some kind of change somewhere and the

boat began to rock. I didn't bring her up again.

But I couldn't get the sight of his hand on her face out of my mind.

I felt uneasy, and I didn't like it. I wished for rain, for the day to end sooner so

that I could be at home and alone with my thoughts. But the rain never came. I

wasn't alone until hours later, and the thoughts that flashed through my mind's

eye made my stomach feel sick.

August 31st, 2008

I'd tried to push the image of that girl hiding behind her hair, all small and

ashamed looking, out of my brain. But the memory, the sight of Bella with her

books all clenched close, was keeping sound sleep away.

At work, I asked Emmett if he knew about her. He'd said yeah, he remembered

Phil mentioning her back when he and Renee first got together. He'd met her a

few times back then, but that was really all he could say. Which wasn't enough.

Which only raised more questions. And I felt like such a dick, like some kind of

traitor for questioning Phil. My friend. My partner. The good guy.

But parents didn't touch kids like that.

Grown men didn't touch their wife's daughter's cheeks in hushed-up-secret-quiet

like that.

It just didn't happen.

Unless there was something even more horribly wrong going on.

September 4th, 2008

I felt like a liar. A snake in the grass.

I felt like every woman I'd ever known; using my actions with one someone just

to find out more about someone else.

I couldn't stop asking questions, and it felt wrong. I couldn't sleep though, and

asking questions was getting me nowhere. All I could trust was my own self

because that was all I was willing to trust at this point - only my own mind, my

own heart and my own instincts; which were all screaming at me, sure something

was up. Off. Not quite right.

But my mind demanded that I be sure. Know for certain. Collect more facts.

And my heart, it fluttered its eyes and tried to wake, but I forced it back to sleep.

Keep quiet. Keep out of the way.

That night, we were supposed to be gathering at my apartment for a game of

poker, as Phil was allergic to dogs and Emmett had just gotten a puppy a few

days back, but I was more interested in going to Phil's nice - and as of late, very

mysterious to me - home. When Emmett showed up with his friends, Jasper and

Carlisle, I met them at the door with cigars and a case of beer in hand. They

didn't question my story about my landlord insisting on getting some painting

done. and we piled into Emmett's jeep. Phil was waiting on the porch when we

pulled up because he thought Emmett was coming to pick him up.

"Change of plans, Dwyer. Edward's apartment's being painted, it's all toxic and

shit. Can we set up in your living room?" Emmett asked as he walked past Phil

into the house with Jasper, Carlisle and I all following behind. I played it cool, but

clearly caught the look of nervous confusion as it flashed across Phil's face. He

didn't argue though, and we set up the game.

Sure enough Bella was there. I wasn't certain for the first hour or so, but she

came down the stairs eventually and made her way into the room adjacent to our

dining room game. She kept quiet and out of sight.

For a little while.

I watched her, back and forthing past the doorway, streak of brown-black and

white and blue. Watched as she'd glance over for no longer than half a second,

then back down, streak of sloe-black. Watched as Phil watched her too. Watched

as the night wore on, and as Phil had a few more drinks and grew a little more

oblivious. The glances she shot my way lasted two seconds. Then three or four.

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