The Man in the Long Black Coat Chapter Four

Edward stepped over a tombstone, grayed with time. He leaned against a tree and took refuge in the shadows as he surveyed the crowd across the street. Church on a Sunday morning. The last place he wanted to be.

Except there she was. Bella Swan. She dragged her frayed black Converse across the dusty sidewalk, ten paces behind her father as he gladhanded the locals. Sunglasses blocked Edward’s view of her eyes, and her hair hung down in her face, but it was unmistakably her. She kept her head bowed as she walked and, despite the warmth, long sleeves covered her arms.

She did not look up as she passed him, and no one else seemed to notice the dark stranger in their midst as they filed inside like sheep headed for slaughter.

He shook his head at the folly of humans. They were there to pray for the missing clerk, Mike Newton, as if their prayers would make a difference. Prayers were for the weak. Religion was for the weak. Belief was for the weak.

Edward believed in nothing save himself.

He waited until the crowd had filed inside, took a spot at the back, standing behind the last pew with his arms folded across his chest. He kept his head down and scanned the minds nearest him. No different from those in any other crowd he’d been unfortunate enough to be a part of. Consumed with the worries of the day, consumed with their pathetic lives, as if any of it mattered.

Bella sat near the front, three rows back. She’d removed her sunglasses, but her dark hair still covered half her face, making it impossible to see any expression she wore. Edward grew more frustrated at his inability to read her.

He was nearly consumed with his desire to get closer to her, to inhale her scent, to touch her smooth skin once again and feel her warm blood pulse through her body. She slouched in her seat, her legs crossed at the ankles and her eyes seemingly focused on nothing at all. She ran her teeth across her bottom lip and stared straight ahead, as if she were pondering the textured pattern on the walls.

Edward felt himself inching forward involuntarily as the preacher approached the pulpit.

To distract himself, Edward began to read the people seated near Bella. Charlie, to her right, was, as always, worried about his little girl. To her left, an elderly woman considered Bella with scorn, judging her for her dress, judging her for her unkempt hair and the heavy black makeup around her eyes. She judged Charlie, too, for his parenting skills. Bella had earned a reputation as something of a misfit and a troublemaker. That did not reflect well on the town's police chief.

Edward was surprised to find that he harbored ill thoughts about the old woman. Why should he care what some random stranger thought of Charlie? Or of Bella, for that matter?

He shook his head, angry with himself.

The teenagers mostly kept to themselves, separated and off to one side. They thought about Mike Newton. That he had probably run away. That he had gone out partying in the woods and gotten lost, perhaps becoming a victim to a pack of wolves. Some thought he was pulling a prank, that he’d show up out of the blue one day with a smirk and a story.

One girl, who Edward thought might be the driver from the other night outside the convenience store, focused her attention on Bella. “I’ll bet she knows what happened,” the girl thought, looking at Bella with her brows furrowed. “She’s been nothing but trouble since she showed up here. I wish it was her who disappeared.”

Again, Edward found himself getting agitated. He had an urge to defend Bella to this stranger, and this was a great surprise to him. He hadn’t felt the need to defend a woman since the night he lost everything, nearly a hundred years earlier.

Suddenly, a voice bellowed and the crowd hushed, caught by surprise.

“And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the Earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.”

The preacher looked upon his flock, waiting for a response he knew he wouldn't get. He breathed deeply, sighed with exaggerated melancholy.

“Genesis 6:5, my friends. God saw what he'd created, and he regretted it.”

He scanned his people one by one. A minute went by. Two. People began to grow uncomfortable. They fidgeted in their seats. They smoothed their hands over their pants. They looked away, as if distracted by the sound of a passing car, the chirping of a songbird, anything that would change the subject.

It was all Edward could do not to smile. He had heard this before, the doctrine of Original Sin. He knew it to be true. He had seen too much to believe man’s heart was anything but black and cold.

He looked at Bella, who continued staring off into space.

The preacher, too, settled his gaze on her.

“The world is a terrible place, and there is salvation only through Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior,” the preacher said. “We are all sinners. Even I. Even you.”

He began to pace the stage, whipping a sheaf of papers in the air to punctuate each syllable.

“But you say you know a good man? God says that is balderdash.

“Every man’s conscience is vile and depraved. You cannot depend on it to be your guide. It will lead you astray, every time. You are not suited to guide your own lives, my friends. You will find that you cannot satisfy your desires, no matter how far astray from the Lord you may go.

“To live a truly successful life, you must let the Lord be your guide.”

The sermon continued along those lines for forty five minutes, never a break, never a lapse in fervor. Bella seemed to pay no attention to any of it, nor, judging by their thoughts, did many other people. They kept on with their private thoughts, adopting a been-there, done-that attitude.

Edward sensed someone staring at him, and he slowly turned his head to the left. A young man, Bella's age, quickly turned away. There were whispers. Furtive glances in his direction from the group of teens. Their thoughts focused on him, almost as one. It was all Edward could do to ignore the cacophony and focus. One thought at a time.

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"He's kinda hot. Wonder why I haven't seen him before."

"Why's he wearing that coat? It's like eighty degrees out today."

He knew from experience that almost any attention was unwanted by definition. Attention because he did not belong was even worse. That kind of attention rarely abated on its own. As the preacher droned on, mentioning something about a candlelight vigil for Mike Newton coming up in a few days, Edward began to make his way toward the exit.

He took up his spot under the tree at the cemetery again, safely ensconced in shadows. He lit a Marlboro, inhaled deeply.

"Can I bum one a those?"

He turned quickly. A man, dressed in baggy jeans and a blue button-down, carrying a shovel. Presumably, he was the cemetery's groundskeeper. "Waylon" was stenciled over his breast pocket. He looked at Edward expectantly, almost embarrassed.

Edward said nothing, considering his options. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, drew out the pack of smokes and flipped it open. Waylon reached for one. 

"Yeah," Waylon said as he retrieved a book of matches from his pocket and struck one. His jeans sagged down some more, exposing the crack of his ass. "I cain't never last a whole sermon neither. Lucky for me, they changed my shifts so I gotta work Sundays now anyhow."

He squinted into the sun, sighed.

Edward said nothing.

"You ain't from 'round here, is ya? 'Cause I knowed just 'bout everyone in Forks, and I don't recall seein' you around before."

The crowd began to file out of the church, and Edward directed his attention toward it. 

"I mean, you seem like a nice fella and all, is all I'm saying. Visiting relatives in town maybe? 'Cause, like I said, I know just about the whole town. I play Santa at Christmastime. The kids love it."

Waylon ground the butt of his finished cigarette into the grass with his foot and smiled.

Edward was growing impatient with this man, but he could do nothing about it just then.

"Just passing through," he said. "On my way north."

"North, eh.” He hitched up his pants. “Alaska maybe? Heard some real nice talk about Alaska this time of year, though I ain't never been there myself. No sir, born and raised right here in Forks. Furthest away I been is Seattle. You ever been to Seattle in the summertime? Beautiful place. Got a daughter down there right now, studying at the university.” With this, Waylon paused. His thoughts turned to his daughter. The nature of those thoughts confirmed what the preacher had said about all men being vile and depraved. Edward held his disgust in check. He had neither the time nor the inclination to solve all the world’s problems. This man’s daughter would continue to suffer, or she would not. It was none of Edward’s business.

The truth was, if not for bad timing, Edward would dispatch this buttcrack Santa here and be done with it. He turned toward Waylon and fixed him with a cold stare, intent on putting his attention back on the people exiting from the church. He did not want to miss seeing Bella again. Waylon turned and went back to tending the flowers.

Edward looked across the street, where the crowd jostled one another as if they were in a race to get away. In the confusion, Edward must have missed Bella. He saw Charlie talking with the blue-haired old lady whose thoughts had been so dismissive of his parenting skills. Edward could spot the fake smile on the police chief's face from a hundred yards away. Charlie looked Edward’s way, briefly. Edward heard him make a mental note to keep an eye on the stranger. Inwardly, Edward cursed. He did not need the police chief, let alone Bella’s father, keeping tabs on him.

He desperately searched the crowd for Bella. If his heart were still beating, he knew it would bouncing around in his chest right then. He hadn't felt this sense of anxiety in ages.

He lit another cigarette and stepped into the sunlight, desperately scanning the crowd.

"I know what you did, motherfucker."

And there she was, Bella Swan.

She stood before him, pointing her finger at his chest with one hand and uncomfortably covering her body with the other.

Stunned, Edward fumbled for words. He stepped back into the shadows.

"What kind of a sick asshole are you, anyway. Hiding out in the woods by my house? Sneaking into my bedroom and watching me sleep? You thought I wouldn’t see you or something? Seriously? It's not like I actually sleep, you know.

“I was awake. I saw you. I saw you in my room, lurking in the corner like some sort of … I, I thought you were Charlie at first, so I pretended to be asleep.” She took a step toward him and the pitch in her voice rose an octave. “I mean, Jesus, dude. Stalker much?"

She grabbed the lit cigarette from his hand, took a drag and turned to leave. But she stopped, turned back around and put her face inches from his. "Don’t you ever do that again."

She walked away, shaking her head. Ten yards away, she stopped again and turned around.

“Plus,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting into a smile, “you owe me a new iPhone.”

With that, she stomped off in a huff.

Edward could only stare, at a total loss for words.

-30-

A/N I must say, the response to this thing has been overwhelming. I’m not the guy who’s used to getting hundreds of readers or dozens of reviews. I’m the guy who’s used to writing and then deleting it before anyone can tell me how awful it is. So when I started, I didn’t know if anyone would like this dark, mean, totally messed up Edward. Not to mention the confusing mess that my Bella is. Y’all are wonderful.