Chapter Text
Charlie sat in his chair, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, and avoiding eye contact with his reflection in any shiny surface that was remaining in his house. He’d made short work of the mirrors, smashing them to pieces, before deciding not to touch the windows or the television screen. That would just scream crazy, and he’d be fired instead of simply demoted.
He had to wonder where it all went wrong. Was it when his daughter had married immediately after high school and had a baby, reflecting the same mistakes he’d once made? He had wanted better for her – something beyond this small town without much to offer. He’d been saving for her to go to University. Now, Bella was a vampire and belonged to another family, under the reach of a man who could easily pay her way through any course without needing to scrimp and save. He still hadn’t touched that money, in case she changed her mind and wanted his help.
He didn’t look at Renesmee as his daughter's ruination. He loved his granddaughter and knew that this was what Bella wanted. But when he looked into the eyes of the family who now called her their own, he saw reflected back at him all his failures. And a hunger.
Bella swore up and down that this family of vampires was good. That they only hunted animals and would never touch a human. But Jasper needed to be kept on a tight leash, Alice would sometimes say the strangest things, and Carlisle was… well, the way he looked at Charlie let him know that he was one minute away from draining him dry.
A secret like this – that vampires, shifters, and other such things existed – wasn’t meant for the human brain. He understood why Bella had reacted the way she did when Edward left. She was convinced it was depression and anxiety, but he knew better now that he was going through it himself. The knowledge that he was going to die while others had achieved immortality weighed on him, that a creature like Jacob could destroy him and leave nothing behind, and that they had a whole network of otherworldly creatures willing to gloss over anything in order to protect their secrets kept him up at night. He barely ate, struggled to sleep, and when he could drink, he picked alcohol as his choice of poison.
He was a failure: as a father, as a husband, and as the Chief of Police. His wife had no problems leaving him when she’d had enough, his daughter had found a better family and a better father to give her everything she needed, and he had been removed from the position just this morning. On the grounds of mental illness, due to his lack of sleep and alcohol issues, among other things, he found himself as a simple officer again. They’d promised him that if he cleaned up his act again, the job could be his, but he saw the pity in their eyes. They thought he’d seen too much and become damaged. They were right, but wrong about the things he had seen.
The last straw for them was when he had broken his mug. Not an accidental drop, but rather one where he smashed it on the ground and stared at the shards for a while, not realising anyone was trying to snap him out of his trance. When he’d come to, the officers had been frustrated and panicked, thinking he’d had an episode. Of course, when he’d started muttering about shifters not being werewolves to himself a few minutes later, they’d known it was time to end his tenure.
At least he was still going to get paid. But as Charlie sat, staring out of the window and pretending like he didn’t know what was really out there, his phone rang.
It was right next to him, but he still took the time to put his glass down and pick it up, maintaining eye contact with the strong gales that were threatening to knock over his plants in the front garden.
“Charlie,” he grumbled, his voice a deep rasp from the abuse he had committed to it.
“Hey, Charlie, it’s John,” the voice on the other end stated, and Charlie grunted in reply. After a pause that indicated he wasn’t going to pull much from the older man, he continued. “We’ve found a body down by the Ice Cream Station. Do you know where that is?”
This was the man who took over his job. John was now the Chief of Police and had no idea how to operate a real investigation, and his phone skills just made it glaringly worse.
“You want us down there?” He finally asked, trying to pry the information from John.
“Yes, please,” John replied. “Just remember that…” He trailed off. Charlie knew what he was about to say. ‘Just remember you’re not in charge anymore. ’ Not that he needed reminding of that.
Charlie let him know he’d be down soon, ignoring the sentence that had trailed off. He hung up the phone and stood up with a loud groan. When had he gotten so old? He was only in his mid-forties, and he lived an active life while still managing to eat as well as he possibly could.
He threw on a black jacket, remembering the wind outside, and left the mild interiors of what was left of his home and got in his car to meet the rest of the crew down by the next murder.
As he drove, his hands were tight on the wheel. After everything that had happened in Forks, murders weren’t meant to still be going on. The Cullens were meant to protect this side of town, but clearly they weren’t trying hard enough. Of course, they couldn’t be everywhere at once, and they weren’t omniscient, but it still bothered him that nothing much had changed despite their lies that they would.
The Ice Cream Station was by the edge of town, though still within the protection space, Charlie noted. It was popular with an older clientele, as it had a 50s vibe that a lot of people thought was trendy at his age. The younger audience wasn’t exactly huge – they wanted big and modern, not a blast from a past they didn’t know anything about.
As he pulled in, he noted all the police tape that had been put up. There was… a lot. And not just because it was a big crime scene. He could see that it must have happened out back, where not a lot of people would go unless they wanted to be by the bins, so why were they making such a big show of it?
He got out of his car after parking nearby and began walking up. He trailed one hand along the yellow tape, reading the standard phrase ‘POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS’ like it was an old friend. It comforted him somewhat to know that this hadn’t changed and that no matter which direction his life went in, somethings would always be there.
Charlie rolled his eyes as he had to duck under a series of woven tape lines, knowing that it had to be John’s work, and found his way around the back, where he could hear some voices talking softly. As if his mind was on red alert for the man specifically, he followed the side of the white building around until he was face-to-face with John and Carlisle of all people.
The two men stopped talking, but he saw the way Carlisle’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Hello, officer,” the doctor said, almost taunting him with the way his job title had changed.
He ignored him and looked down, his stomach roiling as he took in the sight. A young man was lying on the ground, his eyes open and unseeing towards the sky. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, to the point where you would believe he was simply star gazing if not for the fact that he wasn’t moving, it was the afternoon, and his face was so white that it was as if all the blood had been drained from his body. Which, if Carlisle’s smirk was anything to go by, was exactly the case.
“Why is he here?” Charlie asked, pulling out his notebook and pen and jabbing the air with the latter in the direction of Carlisle. He dropped down next to the body and turned the dead man’s head slightly to look at his neck. No signs of strangulation or any trauma to the area.
“We had to make sure he was dead,” John replied, a nervous note in his voice.
“And is he?” Charlie replied, his own dripping in sarcasm.
“As a doornail.”
“And how did he die?”
Carlisle’s smooth voice cut through the sounds of the wind howling overhead. “His heart stopped beating.”
Charlie’s body stiffened. Was he seriously trying to make a joke at a time like this? He could hear John giving a soft laugh in reply, as if acting like it was the best joke he’d ever heard, but Charlie was absolutely fuming. It must be so easy to joke about death when you knew it was a rare chance you would face it.
He turned his head up to make eye contact with the other man. By all rights, this man should look older than him (and also no longer be alive), but instead, he was a golden angel, standing in the limited light the afternoon had to offer, with his yellow eyes dancing with amusement at him. His hair swayed in the wind, the only thing that really moved at all on him without it looking forced. His eyes were too steady to be a human’s, he had no random movements or twitches like a person would, and his skin shimmered slightly under the sun. None of this was enough to be noticeable: eye contact wasn’t exactly a red flag, and people would think he just had great skin care. But it made him mad to realise he hadn’t noticed how inhuman this man was for such a long time. All he’d noticed, when he was first introduced, was how beautiful he was. And how envious he was that Carlisle and Esme had the marriage he’d always wanted.
He had it all. An envious job, a high-achieving wife, children, and a great house. He’d always wanted those things with Renee, but he didn’t hold it against her that she had needed more and left. What he held against himself was that he never really moved on. He’d held onto this childish fantasy that she would come back and they’d pick up right where they left off. Now, he was alone in a town where the dating pool was so slim it was basically non-existent. So, yes, he was very jealous of the life Carlisle had here.
It bothered him more that he knew John was getting laid and he hadn’t in over ten years.
Charlie continued processing the body, taking down little notes of any marks on the body that seemed unusual. Little scabs on the body, scuff marks, and anything that seemed irregular. He knew John hadn’t done this and would rely on his notes to push through the investigation, so he added a little note that read ‘fuck you, John’ up the top so it would be seen when it was photocopied.
He was almost done when he moved the man’s left wrist again. He’d seen some scuff marks on the right, but the left arm had appeared almost clean; however, when he angled it just right, he could see two puncture marks. They were so clean of blood that it would take a keen eye to see the injury.
The back of his head began to prickle, and he darted a look up, meeting Carlisle’s eyes again. The doctors seemed to be amused, but now they had a warning in them. He didn’t need to be told twice: if he started talking about vampires, he wouldn’t just get demoted – he’d have his badge removed right here and fired. Opening a fresh page, he noted it down, but kept it out of sight to John.
When he stood up, he motioned at the man who was now his boss. “Well, what do you think?”
“Some sort of lover’s tiff,” John shrugged, leaning against the back of the building, his demeanour completely relaxed. If he knew what monster was in his presence, he wouldn’t be so easy to do that.
Both Charlie and Carlisle exchanged a look.
“How do you come to that conclusion?” Carlisle finally asked. Charlie was too exhausted to ask it.
“He was gay.”
Charlie immediately frowned. “One, how do you know that? Two, how does that make this a lover’s tiff?”
“Gays do this shit all the time,” John grumbled. “They get into fights over handbags or whatever.”
Great. Not only was John the town idiot, but he was also a homophobe. Charlie knew small towns often came with small minds, but he’d been in Forks a long time and never felt the need to judge over who loved whom. If he didn’t need such basic things explained, John didn’t either.
“Still doesn’t explain how you knew he was gay,” Carlisle said, and Charlie had to fight back a small smile. He knew the insinuation would piss John off.
Instead of blustering and getting offended, John reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Why he had taken the evidence was beyond Charlie, but the man opened it and showed the picture inside. It was of the victim and another man, both hugging for a camera.
Charlie snatched it from him and scrutinised the picture for a second. This was his proof that the man was gay? It was just a hug between two men. He rolled his eyes and moved the picture aside to look at the man’s driver’s license.
“Ben Lowry,” he said to himself softly. “I’ll run his number in the system back at the station and see if we get any hits.”
“I can do it…” John’s voice cut off as Charlie folded the wallet back up and put it with his notebook.
Without another word, Charlie turned around and began walking back to where he parked. He couldn’t be bothered saying farewell to either man, and he didn’t care if he looked rude. He was already getting a headache from dealing with such a moron that all he wanted was a quiet afternoon running some numbers in an old system. He wasn’t even on duty for the day, but it was better than sitting at home alone.
He trudged across to his car and unlocked it, taking the wallet out so he wouldn’t lose it in the mess.
“You reek of alcohol,” a voice came from across the parking lot.
“You reek of blood,” he replied, stony-faced as he opened his car door to get in. He didn’t speak too loudly, knowing the vampire could still hear him.
“No, I don’t,” his voice was raised to a sing-song quality.
Charlie turned around to stare directly at Carlisle, a challenge in his eyes. “If I find out you had anything to do with this.”
“You’ll what?” In a flash, the doctor was in front of him, pushing him back against his car. Charlie raised one hand to the man’s chest to keep him from pushing him too far back, but it was as successful as trying to push a boulder away. “Will you kill me, officer?”
Carlisle dipped his head low, his arms coming to either side of Charlie to hold onto the car and effectively keeping him caged to it. He ran his nose up Charlie’s neck, breathing in as he did so. He ended at the base of Charlie’s ear, and his next words felt hot against him.
“I’d like to see you try.”
With a blink, the man was gone, and Charlie leaned back against his car, taking in a shuddering breath.
He needed to get out of this damn town.