Rating M

Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.
I just like to make her characters do unspeakable things.

Much love and thanks to my favorite girls
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,
and my beta love, Carrie ZM.
So grateful for you three everyday.

Carlisle POV

Present Day

Crime scene photos litter the screen before the police sketch of the "assailant" fades in as Aro recounts the days following the incident. "The once quiet, serene town of Middlebury was rocked again by the reappearance of the Freshmen Killer. Unlike the last two times he struck, this time, police had two witnesses. One who was bruised and terrified, while the other clung to life."

The ominous, slow piano notes return, while pictures materialize of me before and after my assault, then cuts to a grainy video of Bella's interview with Detective Hunter and Chief Forge. Her voice is hoarse and shaky as she repeats the version of events she gave Officer Eleazar that night. Holding her tears at bay, she pauses and chokes back sobs when she gets to the part about me. She takes a moment to collect herself, covering her face with her good hand and giving the detectives a look at the defensive bruises on her arm not covered by her sling.

"God, I was good, wasn't I?" she asks from the edge of the bed, nudging my foot with her elbow.

The camera cuts to Aro with his fingers steepled and head tipped to the side. "Do you believe the killer is still out there?"

"Yes," she answers. Because she knows I am.

"I imagine that's very difficult for you," he offers. "Constantly looking over your shoulder. Unsure of your attacker's whereabouts."

"It's very difficult and it's no way to live, but …" She takes a deep breath, ramping up her performance. "Years of therapy have taught me that I need to lean into the good." She exchanges a loving glance with my son. "So, that's what I try to do. Every single day."

"And you have him to thank."

The camera pans to me sitting rigid and expressionless in the seat beside Edward. Soft string music fades in as pictures of my recovery filter onto the screen.

"While the run-in with the Freshmen Killer took its toll on Bella Cullen both mentally and emotionally, Carlisle Cullen bore the brunt physically." A snapshot of a younger me materializes. I'm standing proudly in front of the Middlebury College sign in my suit and tie with my broad shoulders and devastatingly handsome smile. "Although doctors are certain his cognitive function is intact, he is no longer able to communicate or move independently," Aro explains over footage of Edward assisting me with my daily physical therapy. "Due to his injuries and a series of subsequent strokes, the once active father and pillar of the community now requires round-the-clock care."

Edward and Bella's wedding photo fades in. It's a black and white shot of them laughing in front of a snow-frosted window. "You went from college students to full-time caregivers overnight."

Edward nods slowly while Bella answers with a sad smile. "We did."

"That's a lot to take on, especially for a young couple. Does it weigh on your relationship?"

"It's not always easy," she says, meeting Edward's eyes.

"But my wife is an incredible woman, and I'm a lucky man for finding someone with such a loving heart."

Her cheeks flush pink at his words and obvious devotion. Nauseating.

"Your father is a lucky man, too, given all she's committed to his care," Aro adds.

"Absolutely," Edward agrees.

"It's a labor of love." The camera zooms in on my vacant face then cuts to hers. "My father-in-law is …" Her voice cracks and her eyes water. "He's the reason I'm here today with Edward, and for that I'll be forever grateful."

Aro grins. "A silver lining in all of this?"

A lone tear slips down her cheek. "Definitely."

Somber music fades in along with an image of Bree Tanner's mother holding her daughter's photo against her chest. "But not everyone got a silver lining. Some are left with only memories of their loved ones." A shot of Mr. and Mrs. Weber praying together appears. "And questions which may never be answered."

And they never will be.

Chief Forge's voice sounds over a slideshow of pictures of Bree and Angela. "Not a day goes by that I don't think about this case. It's the biggest regret of my policing career that I couldn't get justice for these families."

"Forums have emerged online," Aro narrates while videos of chat rooms and The Freshmen Killer blogs fill the screen. "True crime junkies and people who fancy themselves armchair forensic experts have pored over the details of the case, hoping to identify the perpetrator like the online community that helped catch the Golden State Killer. Have these proved helpful?" Aro asks, skeptically.

Chief Forge chuckles softly and crosses his arms over his chest. "Listen, we'll take all the help we can get, but the facts remain the same." He holds up a finger. "We don't have bodies." Another finger. "We don't have a crime scene or a murder weapon." And another. "All we have are some pictures that indicate that a crime took place and a sketch based on Bella Swan's encounter with the killer. That's not much to go on, unfortunately."

The police sketch fades in and The Investigation Files theme song starts up. "Over twenty years later, the case of The Freshmen Killer remains unsolved, but the families of the victims remain hopeful that they'll get answers."

"Hope is all we have," Reverend Weber says while a slowed-down video of Angela laughing plays. "Hope is what helps us face another day without our daughter."

"I'll never give up hope." Mrs. Tanner sucks in a shaky breath as a tear slips down her face. "Never."

The show's emblem flashes on the screen just as the low hum of the garage door opening sounds. Bella fumbles for the remote and lifts it to pause the program. She hops up, fussing with her hair and watching my son's car pull in the drive from the bay window beside my bed.

It's the same thing every damn day. Her welcoming him home with her soft smiles and shy wave. Him eating it up, blowing her a kiss like he's the luckiest guy there is. And me, watching him saunter to the mailbox with this hopeful expression on his face, like today's the day a letter from his mother is going to magically show up.

But inevitably, it never does. And it probably never will given all the efforts he's made to get in contact with Lizzie over the years.

Bella clucks her tongue and levels me with a look. Much like I can count on his optimism, I can always expect her disgust. Most days she just scowls at me when his face falls.

But then there are days like today.

Days when her guilt gnaws at her, and the weight of our lie seems almost too much for her to bear. She runs an anxious finger over the diamond pendant necklace he gave her for their anniversary. "I hate you for this," she tells me, monotone.

It's not the first time she's said this to me. Won't be the last either, I'm sure.

"I hate that he still hopes," she continues, stepping over to the end of my bed. "And that you were too much of a coward to tell him the truth about her." Glancing down at her shoes, her voice lowers. "About all of them."

Ha! The truth says the girl who was so desperate to keep my son that she silenced me all together. She more than anyone should know how tricky telling the truth can be. For over twenty years she's kept our secret, and I'm never certain if our tacit arrangement stems from her fear of losing him, or her not being able to corroborate my confession with facts.

Because the truth is, she really knows nothing about how Bree and Angela died.

Bree with her big eyes and demure smile, desperately trying to glom onto someone with unlimited potential like my son. Sometimes, I almost feel a tinge of remorse about her. Admittedly, hers is a case of wrong place, wrong time. When I stumbled upon her in the quad that night, my last interaction with Lizzie was fresh in my mind. And when she casually inquired about my son, fishing for information while preening for my approval, I may have taken it out on her.

Luring her to her death with the promise of joining Edward and me for dinner a town over was easy. Stabbing through her sternum over and over again proved tougher. My mind flashes back to that night, hearing her screams and pleas and the sounds of the knife slicing through her flesh. I close my eyes briefly, remembering the lingering smell of the nearby dairy farm as I took the pictures, memorializing my barbarous act.

When I open them, Bella's staring at me with unfettered disdain. The sound of the door opening down the hall, and my son's footfalls drawing nearer causes her to school her features. She lowers her folded arms, clasping her hands in front of her innocently and twists her pursed lips into an insufferably smug smile.

Reminds me of Angela.

Now that one, I have no regrets whatsoever. Her name might mean angel, but that's where the likeness stops. I vaguely recall Edward mentioning his error in judgement and subsequent guilt for their interaction over lunch one day, but it wasn't until I overheard two coeds gossiping about the New Year's Eve party altercation the following morning that I decided to intervene so to speak. Memories of her demise play in my mind's eye like a movie reel. The fear on her face when she realized my intentions and the shrill sounds of her shrieks being drowned out by the dairy cows across the creek. Her desperation to escape me and when that didn't pan out, her determination to fight. I can still hear the gurgles and cries each time the blade pierced her stomach and chest, and the hum of the alkaline hydrolysis machine the university purchased for the dairy reducing her body to ashes just like Bree's. Keys to the remote facility and the tour I took of it in the summer certainly came in handy after realizing that diseased cow carcasses aren't the only thing the machine is able to dispose of. Environmentally safely speaking, of course.

"Frosh?" my son calls from the hallway.

"In here," she replies, her smile growing.

"Hey you." Two strides and he's got her in his arms, hugging her tightly. "How was your day?"

"Good." She lifts up on her tiptoes to peck his lips. "How was work?"

"Work was work." He dips down to kiss her again before tapping her on the backside.

He says the same thing every night. Evidently in the years that I've been in this immobilized state, the internet became a thing and something called social media became the best form of job security for my son's crisis management firm.

"Productive day?"

Nodding his head, he pumps some sanitizer into his palm. "Definitely." He rubs his hands together before patting me on the leg. "Hey Dad."

They chitchat while he does my daily physical therapy. Over ankle rotations, he tells her about his newest beleaguered client, and over knee extensions, she tells him about the new caregiver coming over.

"She's highly recommended from the agency," she says before running a finger over the screen of her phone and listing all the certifications and qualifications.

"What's her name?"

"Esme," Bella replies, glancing up at him. "Esme Platt."

"Did they do a background check?"

She nods and waves the phone. "They included that too."

"Good deal." Just as he grabs my forearm and hand to do joint compressions, he notices the paused program on the television. "I, uh, forgot that was coming on today."

"Yeah …" Bella's eyes dart from the TV to his. "We can watch it later if you want."

Edward shakes head. "Living through it once was enough for me."

Bella tenses before glancing down at her shoes. "Same," she says, her voice sounding small.

A far cry from the fierce girl from that took me on all those years ago. I often think about that night and all the events leading up to it. Well, the bits and pieces I can remember. But mostly I wonder if I was right. Would Edward have believed her if she told him the truth? Would he trust the word of a girl he knew and loved for months as opposed to a father who loved him all his life?

I suppose we'll never know which way it would've gone. Playing on the fears of a young girl in love might've been the only thing I did right that night.

The sound of the doorbell snaps me out of my thoughts as Edward stands to answer it.

"I've got it," Bella says, slipping her mask from her pocket onto her face.

"I think having a caregiver will be beneficial for all of us," he tells me as she leaves, grabbing a disposable mask from the box on my bedside table and securing it to my face before placing one on his. "I've got a good feeling about this."

"Edward," Bella calls before rounding the corner. "This is Esme Platt."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my new caregiver saunter through the doorway. Bouncing caramel-colored tresses frame her face. Although I can't see all of her features because of her mask, I notice her eyes are bright and beautiful. Stunning really.

"Mr. Cullen, hello," she says, maintaining her distance.

Her voice is pleasing, sweet and feminine. I like how my name sounds rolling off her tongue.

"Please, call me Edward." He pats my leg. "This is my father, Carlisle."

She takes a tiny step forward and her voice softens. "Hello, Carlisle."

Hello, nurse!

They exchange a few more pleasantries, making small talk about the property, the weather, and the pandemic before getting down to business. Bella does most of the talking as she's been my primary caregiver through the years. She asks her shrewd but thoughtful questions about her qualifications and work experience which Esme answers effortlessly.

Edward rounds the bed and continues my physical therapy on my other side while they discuss my treatment and care. Over the course of their conversation, Esme meets my gaze every now and again. Each time she's rubbing the silver locket hanging from her neck between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes crinkle in the corners when she does, and I wonder if she's smiling at me in amusement or out of compassion.

Edward and Bella's phones sound at the same time, my medicine reminder startling them both, but Esme doesn't flinch.

"Oh my God, I didn't realize it was already 6:00 pm." Bella glances at Edward. "I left his pill organizer in the kitchen, can you grab it for me?"

"Sure thing."

He leaves the room and there's a brief lull in the conversation until Esme notices the television. "Is Carlisle a true crime junkie like me?"

Bella chuckles. "Something like that. We do listen to podcasts and audiobooks." She thumbs to the TV. "And we'll watch the occasional show, but ..." she trails off when she hears Edward ask her where the meds are from the kitchen.

"They should be where they always are," she yells back.

"I don't see them."

She shakes her head and mutters that they're probably right in front of him before moving toward the door. "I'll be right back, I've gotta go help him."

Once Bella's out of the room, Esme steps over to the shelf on the wall where Edward's vintage cameras are displayed. She inspects the decorative box beside a picture of Lizzie at her typewriter. If she removed the lid of the box, she'd find the bottle of perfume and the small tape player that Bella gets out to torture me with when Edward travels. She'll spray my pillow with Lizzie's signature scent and let a recording of typewriter keys play from sunup to sundown.

It's maddening.

Esme moves to the window, looking at the lush garden beneath the palm trees along the edge of the property. "This is some view," she says, slipping her mask off and glancing back at me. She licks her pouty pink lips, then smiles. "So different from where I grew up back East."

Her fingers find her locket again. "Sometimes I miss Vermont. The seasons and my family. My niece most of all."

While she's droning on about all the things she misses back home. I take the opportunity to reacquaint myself with a skill that I've missed for many years.

Movement.

What was merely a twitch of my index finger last week is now a full finger lift. Thus far it's the only digit that will move, but I'm hopeful it's not the last. Bella will be back any moment, so I focus all of my concentration on moving it before she gets back. She can't know.

At least not yet.

Esme's soft gasp breaks my focus and my eyes snap to hers. Her brow raises and a knowing grin spreads over her face. "You have secrets," she whispers low, stepping over to my bedside and opening the shiny silver oval-shaped locket dangling from her neck revealing a tiny photo. The smiling face of Bree Tanner looks back at me. "I have secrets too."

Bella's footsteps sound in the hallway and Esme steps back, snapping the locket closed and slipping her mask over her face. Both the three-ply disposable one and the doting caretaker one she's wearing for Bella and my son.

"Sorry about that, he was looking in the wrong place," Bella says, holding up the medication organizer causing the pills to rattle around. "Anyway, we had a chance to discuss and we'd be thrilled to move forward in the hiring process. I'll call Shelly in the morning to get everything squared away."

NO!

"Wonderful." Esme clasps her hands together, elated.

"I can't tell you how relieved we are. This whole finding a caretaker process has been difficult."

"I can imagine." Esme glances down at me, tilting her head sweetly, like she's not the fucking angel of death.

My eyes move to Bella and I blink frantically, unable to do anything else to communicate the danger I'm in. She doesn't seem to notice my distress signal, so I bat my eyelids slower, scrunching my eyes harder.

There's only one more thing I can do.

I focus all of my concentration on my hand, willing more than just one digit to move. As my index finger rises, Esme's hand covers mine, concealing the movement.

I meet her stare. Her eyes are kind and cruel all at once, much like the words that drip sugary sweet from her lips. "I'm going to give him the care he deserves." She dips her chin and lowers her voice before adding, "that's a promise."

A/N: And that's a wrap!

Thanks so much for sticking with this story – even with the delay between updates. Life's been tricky – thanks for being patient with me.

It's been a minute since we let it WIP – but we've got a cool drabble for you guys. It's addicting!

Toxic Waste by Lozz of London – He's dangerous. She's fearless. High school is a hunting ground, but the foundations are toxic, threatening to crumble and consume. Their love is a battlefield they'll fight to survive; their passion like raging waves in a storm -sink or swim? They're addicted to each other -amongst other things. AH.

Huge love and thanks to my favorite girls for always being down for and encouraging my brand of crazy.

Planetblue and Yum - It's a wonderful thing being supported by two of my favorite writers who are also two of my fave friends. I learn so much from you guys with each chapter I write and each chapter of yours that I read. Grateful for and love you both!

Carrie ZM – Pal … I can't thank you enough for every hour you put into this one – helping me work through the storyline, listening to me second guess the storyline, picking me up when I lost my confidence, and every single 'oh my' in between. Love you and appreciate you, HCC!

Fandom … it's been a blast. LAHM out!