I do not own Twilight.

Moved from Fictionista Workshop Daily WitFit to this story 12.19.09.

I sincerely apologize that this has taken so long! Novel edits take priority, but I
have more to post when I can transfer from my ridiculous notebook!
Just to clarify, these are "drabbles" or entries based on word prompts inspired by
Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit challenge, which encourages writers to write
every single day with word prompts and no editing. These are supposed to be
unconnected, but because a story idea came out of my head on this one, I am
following it utilizing the remaining prompts as best I can. It will be short and
undeveloped, but hopefully fun for us both! So... thanks to your encouragement,
this is a continuation of the prompt "Chapter 1: Abracadabra". Please read it first
or this won't make sense. :) See any typos, please let me know! Especially you,
UA. ;)
This prompt was for 12.13.09's prompt word was "inadequate". You can read
more entries by replacing the {dot} with a real . here: http://bit{dot}ly/58cK2M

Her gift for premonition was a secret, an ignored flaw that had embarrassed Alice since she
realized she was different. Throughout her youth, she fought against the invasion of the future,
grasping at now for dear life, refusing the images entry. For her entire adulthood, she’d
successfully accomplished this, blinding her mind’s eye with immediate distractions when
visions pursued: a clicking pen, chores, cooking, cleaning or shopping. Anything to stop
seeing…
It worked. Alice blinded her mind through sheer determination; she had not seen since the vision
that changed her life left her hospitalized and parentless at the age of fourteen.
Until now, she believed the slow death of her gift was a blessing, an accomplishment in the
darkest sense as it silenced the evil that found traffic in her mind…
Alice dipped the tea bag in the hot water again, watching the clear liquid darken as she slowly
closed her eyes.
At first, she got nothing.
And then nothing again until gradually an image of her hand moving above the cup appeared.
With her eyes still closed, she could trace the white ceramic outline of the mug against the black
marble of Bella’s desk, seeing little flecks of gold and silver.
This was progress. Smiling to herself, the same sense of achievement that once swelled her chest
and heart when feeling her gift fade emerged once more, this time in response to her success. Her
mind was getting stronger.
Shifting her sight inch by inch, she travelled from the cup to the edge of the box of Bella’s tea,
all the way to a brown frame on the desk. She could hardly detect the wooden outline at first, the
adjustment in her vision blurring the details. The picture was only a mosaic; blurred, confusing
fragments of a whole picture.
But she knew the object: a frame with a photograph of Edward and Bella on their Caribbean
vacation. Bella wore white shorts, her dark, windswept hair adorned with a pink flower. Both
Bella and Alice’s brother, Edward, were covered in sand from the knees down as the sunset
washed the picture with color.
Alice loved this photograph. Edward had never looked happier; Bella had never been more
beautiful.
Briefly crushed by a snippet of despair, she pushed that feeling away, focusing harder, knowing
without a doubt there was a reason for this resurrected talent. She was meant to find Bella before
it was too late and there was no time for tears or fear. Only faith. She would do this; there was no
option for failure and when Alice wasn’t tending to her brother, she was practicing in Bella’s
office with things her friend had touched all day.
Determination surged through Alice again at the thought of Bella in pain, remembering the
image she had seen last night. After leading her drugged brother to bed and wiping his tears with
her own shirt, she had come in here to sit amongst Bella’s things and to cry. After thumbing
through unimportant papers for a while, sadness overtook Alice and she reached out to her
husband, Jasper.
When he had answered the telephone, distressed and worried over her, she explained she was
running late, but he wanted to talk and so she sat. Jasper had a way of making Alice feel better,
and she listened to his reassurance with tear-stained eyes, fingering Bella’s discarded gum
wrapper and favorite pen. Eventually, Jasper succeeded in making her laugh a little with jokes
about his brother Emmett’s attempt to build a porch in his backyard and she felt slightly better.
Exhausted and desperately fearful for her friend, Alice rose to leave, understanding that hope lay
in waiting and trusting the investigators.
But when her fingers casually touched the back of Bella’s chair, horror flashed behind her eyes.
“Please…” Bella pleaded. Her hair was in her face. There was loud classical music and voices
down a narrow hallway. Bella trembled, visibly terrified, stretching her uncuffed hand to the
other. Her wrist was purple and swollen. Injured.
Confused and shocked, Alice had gasped in horror, giving a strangled cry before backing away
from the chair.
The image was seared into her mind, instantly reversing years of denial and self-conditioning.
That was two days ago. Since then she’d been in the office alone, secretly touching Bella’s
things, upset that the chair brought no additional premonitions, but desperate to try. Alice only
left to get Edward into bed, rationalizing her guilt by affirming her commitment to her secret
mission. He wouldn’t speak to her anyway, and it wasn’t like she could tell him either, or anyone
for that matter.
None of that mattered to Alice anyway. Bella was in danger, but she could save her. And she
would.
Something was changing in their lives; something was moving and she could feel it, though she
couldn’t see it. Yet.
Breathing deeply through clenched teeth, Alice moved slowly to the cup and then to the tea box,
watching her fingernail trace the ornate label. Eventually, the scattered fog of her mind
coalesced, allowing her to follow instinct.
And then, for so much longer than she would ever have imagined possible, she had it. A cascade
of images flitted through her mind, blurring the very edges of her vision while the rest remained
focused, bringing her actions into mind a split second before they happened.
Tracing diligently, the first word on the box was complete, each little edge and loop precisely
outlined.
But then it was dark and the mosaic returned. Damnit, she cursed herself inwardly for losing the
vision. There was always this afternoon. After the investigators left in a few hours, she could get
Edward’s lunch and medication, allow him his time to pace in his office and retreat to this place.
Opening her eyes, she glanced at the clock. It was 7:00 am and the detectives would be there
soon. Edward would want to be awake when they arrived, so she gave up for now.
Breathing deeply, she resumed her practice, walking to the stairs with the hot cup of Bella’s
favorite tea, resolute for what had just happened and what was still to come, seeing the steps in
her mind before taking them.
*
“When did you know?” she asked, chewing on a cherry stem, teasing him in more ways than
one. Her breasts were nearly touching his chest, his hand tracing circles on her back.
“I don’t know,” he lied, searching for words that weren’t inadequate and ridiculous.
“I knew when I loved you…” she countered, her eyes shaming him with absolution. “It was the
Sunday we had coffee. You got out of your car in a rush, but a little old lady beat you to the
door. You smiled and opened it, and even made small talk until she ordered.”
Bella laughed at the memory fondly, but Edward stared at her in confusion, remembering that
afternoon. For first-love epiphanies, that had to be lame. He didn’t even know she’d arrived
twenty minutes early, or that she was waiting there in the crowd, watching. And to make matters
worse, he wasn’t positive he loved her until weeks later.
“That was the first moment you knew you loved me?” he confirmed.
She nodded. “Pretty much. Before we even drank our coffee, I was yours.”
“Of all the times we shared, that’s when you knew?”
“It’s different for women,” she shrugged.
Again with her veiled feminism, he thought. “How so?”
“We just know. It’s like… a premonition.”
“An instinct?” he clarified, trying to understand. If that was what she was saying, then it made
sense, but also disproved her theory. Men felt instinctual urges. With the way her shirt exposed
her cleavage, he was fighting the instinct to have her right then.
“No. It’s…” she started thoughtfully. “Have you ever had déjà vu?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like that. Like… the world just stopped for a second and skipped a beat and hit a target all
at once… it’s indefinable, but certain at the same time.”
He liked that explanation. Now that he thought about it, that was exactly what it felt like. She
was so smart.
“Men feel that, too,” he said.
“Not like we do,” she murmured, making designs on the stem with her teeth. He wanted to tell
her what he felt right then, that she was always so soft and smelled like flowers. That he loved
her and wanted her to be his wife one day.
Twirling the red stem in circles around her finger, she said no more, as if her last remark had
ended the discussion. Usually, he would not have let her win so easily, but he wasn’t sure he
wanted to be difficult this time. If she believed she had loved him first, why argue? Smiling, he
decided no debate was in order.
“Hmm…” he rumbled in her ear, sliding the inside of his knee over her thigh. “Maybe I should
show you what men feel,” he teased, his nose now pressed against her neck, his erection
automatic.
“I know what you feel,” she said, breathy and already excited.
“Do you?” he wondered, kissing to her jaw, his fingers meeting the line of her bra. She moaned
as his hands cupped her breast, the warmth of her skin radiating through her thin blouse.
“Yes… it was our fifth date… when the waiter dropped that plate on our table and all over my
dress and I laughed…” she whispered.
His mouth stopped and so did his hand, recalling that moment. She had apologized for bumping
the waiter, though it was the waiter’s fault. Embarrassment had colored her face, but she’d
smiled before laughing at herself.
That was the night he slipped that dress from her shoulders, the night she let him make love to
her. And she was right.
*
“Edward?”
He heard a whisper that wasn’t Bella’s.
“It’s time to get up...” Silently, he opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with his worried sister.
She looked older than she had yesterday and he was sure he did too; neither had slept much since
Thursday.
He didn’t want to rise. Truly, he didn’t. But he would.
Forcing his body off the bed, fatigue and hollow fear weighed him down, but he used his arms to
shift upright. Dizzy and empty, he felt as if he could die. He wanted nothing more than to curl
into a ball and forget everything but her, but he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t.
“What time is it?” he asked, knowing it was early morning.
“They’ll be here soon,” Alice said, handing him tea he ignored. He desperately wanted to see the
detectives and hoped they’d have a lead today. Something, anything to work from.
“Are they still outside?” he asked, hoping the media had left last night, already knowing that
wasn’t the case.
“Yes,” she answered, pulling his legs from the bed, helping him to sit and put his feet on the
floor. He groaned, feeling the rage at their intrusion bubbling under the surface. More than
anything, he wished he could take a shot at their cameras and take a few reporters with him.
“If you’d just talk, they’d probably leave,” she whispered, her still-outstretched hand in his
peripheral vision.
How could she say that? He thought, burning with frustration.
“Talk?” he croaked, rubbing his face furiously, imagining the attempt once more. He had stood
in front of those cameras on Sunday so they would leave; breaking down after the first stranger
said her name. They’d already gotten enough from him and until they gave him either privacy or
Bella, they would get no more.
“Don’t get upset; try to think of it in a good way. The longer they’re here, the more people will
look for her, and the sooner she’ll come home.”
He sighed, seeing her logic, but hating it nonetheless. Alice took a seat next to him, softly
adjusting the bed with her light weight.
“I brought you tea. Bella’s favorite.”
He glanced at the cup, seeing the swirling steam, smelling the berry scented flavor that reminded
him of her. Now that she was gone, Edward would never forget that shopping trip from just a
few weeks ago:
“Get that one!” she insisted.
Edward rolled his eyes. “There’s no difference between the generic and the brand,” he argued,
holding the box of 200 bags for the same price. “You’re paying two dollars for a pretty box?”
“I like my type, you like yours.”
“You like expensive things,” he teased her, though money was far from an issue. More than
anything, he wanted to get a rise out of her.
“You’re cheap,” she stated. He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it because she was moving,
slithering in front of him, breaking his grip on the handle of the shopping cart. “I want that tea
and it’s only two dollars more. You can’t spend an extra two dollars on me?” she asked, her big
brown eyes overly dramatic. “If not, I can go out to the car and get my purse.”
He wasn’t even sure why they were arguing anymore. Of course he would buy it for her.
“You can have whatever you want,” he said, mesmerized by how red her lips looked in the
bright, fluorescent lights, bending to kiss her now that she was so close. His lips met hers and
she replied with her tongue, his step forward bringing their bodies together. He groaned,
pressing his sudden erection against her hip.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted them and they turned, seeing an old woman frowning
in the aisle.
“She did like it,” Edward agreed, saddened again, realizing how childish he sounded.
He didn’t care, though. Finally taking the cup, he sipped the hot liquid, swearing to God that if
today were the day she came home, he would be forever grateful.
As he drank away the tension in his throat, emotion threatened tears over the opposite possibility.
But before he could think on it further, his sister practically read his mind.
“We’ll find her, Edward.”
He nodded, pushing aside fears of the unfathomable alternative, knowing they were too much to
even consider while sober. Jumping off the bed, he felt Alice’s arms fall away, not realizing
she’d been hugging him before then.
Her heart sank as he crossed the room, checking immediately for his phone. Edward had a
feeling Bella would call and kept it in his pocket obsessively when it wasn’t on the charger,
along with a picture of Bella he couldn’t be parted from.
The look on his face told her there was nothing there and without a word, he headed to the
shower, phone in hand.
The instant he was gone she closed her eyes, feeling the energy in the room change with his
departure.
Focusing, she searched, trying to determine if his attachment meant something, if somehow he
knew she would call.
But Alice got nothing.
*
Detective Norris patiently navigated the Cullen driveway, passing the hedgerows and four frantic
reporters, groggy but ready to question.
“Detective! Detective!” the fat one shouted half-heartedly, the other three letting her continue.
“Any news on the whereabouts of Bella Swan? Has the FBI discovered anything new?”
Discovered anything new. The evil man inside wanted to grin, but he didn’t. Instead, he ignored
them and pressed the entry button at the gate. The reporter gave up, apparently considering it too
early to badger.
Patiently he waited, irritated but thankful he had been assigned to this case. It was a stroke of
luck beyond his wildest expectations; an exhilarating, bizarre set of events he’d still not fully
processed. When they had originally devised their plan, he had intended to use his position with
the bureau to monitor the progress of the investigation, to simply ensure they never got too close.
Now he was presiding over a case for a missing woman who was currently bound and held
captive by their design and ransom.
Without a word from the small speaker, the gate opened. He knew it was Mr. Cullen waiting for
him, watching him enter, hoping he would have news. He would have none today, though. What
a pity.
Sometimes he felt sorry for Cullen, but even that compassion was dried up, checked in the face
of his hate. Besides, he told himself, even he didn’t know the fate of the rich man’s lover.
Everything depended on how the plan proceeded.
So as he did every morning since Thursday, the detective crossed the lawn to the doorway,
recalling the inspiration for their revenge.
Victoria Matthews was beautiful even in shock. With full lips and tears streaming down her face,
she was a tragic masterpiece of pain. She was angelic in her dazed sorrow, still clutching her
father’s handkerchief though it was splattered with his blood.
Her father, a 62-year old executive with a retirement ahead of him and a loving family had
splattered his brains across his bookcase.
“What happened, Mrs. Matthews?” Detective Norris pressed patiently, his rarely felt sympathy
urging him to touch her.
“Edward Cullen happened,” she suddenly snapped, the spark of rage in her dead eyes so
startling that he blinked.
Swallowing hard, Detective Norris hit the cobblestone pavement, heading up to the mansion with
a skip in his step. Bring on the begging, Mr. Cullen, he thought. You fucking deserve it all.

I told you it ran away with itself! The outline is short, so I promise I'll finish this,
but it will be really raw. Sadly, with no time to edit, the usual layers of revisions
are removed and therefore so is the characterization and emotion. I hope you like
it, though since I left you hanging! Thanks so much to each and every one of you
for reviewing! You're all the best ever!