A/N: This may seem like a slow chapter but it's very important! Lot's of dialogue and I don't know about you, but I LOVE dialogue. You'll also receive more info about Edwin. Have fun! Comment and if you like it, Vote :)

Chapter Eleven

Josslyn scrunches her face. There is warmth emanating from a source she can't quite pinpoint. She tilts her head and notices a streak of sunlight flooding from the bay window where this bed seems flushed.

Where am I?

Gasping, she immediately sits up out of bed and frantically piece together the puzzle of her surrounding. Gray cement spread smoothly on the ceiling like Jiffy Peanut Butter spread on bread. White bricks stack on top of one another on the wall opposite from the bed. It's a condo. Immaculate. Modern. Masculine.  Black and white bouncing in transition from each furniture to the next. 

She rises off the bed, dazed and confused. She downcast to see that her foot has been bandaged. A man appears out of nowhere. He sports a tight fitted T-shirt with blue jeans that grip loosely onto wide hips. "Good morning." 

"Wyatt!" She gasps and topples over in pain. The memories return. Her ankle. Last night. Edwin. Kill. Phillip. Clutching her chest, she begins to hyperventilate as panic begins to drown out confusion.

"Josslyn." Wyatt reaches out for her.

"Don't touch me." She quickly cocoons her body with the bed sheet. "Why did you bring me here?" She demands a little too harsh.

Wyatt scoffs. "How about a genuine thank you for once Josslyn? C'mon." Wyatt lifts her off the floor and helps her into a bar stool beside the granite kitchen island. Again, Josslyn glances at her ankle bandaged ankle. Did Wyatt patched me up?

"I got you crutches too" He says as though he just read her mind. "And an ice bucket. You can soak your ankle in there. You'll feel better." He points the spatula toward a bucket in the far corner and sets a salmon egg Benedict in front of her. Josslyn is caught by surprise, either than man can cook or his girlfriend has yet to introduce herself by strangling me to death.

"I live alone, Josslyn." Wyatt smiles and sits opposite from her. "I would have brought you in for questioning last night, but you could barely open your eyes and I want to discuss what happened but I think you ought to eat first."

Wyatt has an uncanny ability to read her mind and she doesn't like it. She glares down at the plate and the glowing cup of orange juice.

"After my wife died, I ate canned food for a long time but I began cooking real food because I'd rather eat like a real human being."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," Josslyn smirks. "I haven't tasted it yet."

She picks at it then brings a forkful to her mouth. Like a piece of heaven, it melts with divinity. She tries to suppress a smile but she's got to give it to him, "It's tastes...delicious, Wyatt." She nods, reinforcing her approval.

His grin widens, showing his pearly whites and the glimmers of light from the window reflect off his blue irises, making them look almost green. She gulps as her heart misses a near beat. This man makes her feel so tingly inside she just wants to keel over from being in the presence of something so indescribable.

Guilt has never been a tasty ingredient and her appetite plummets. Here she is eating with Wyatt while Edwin is out there, searching for that bastard, Phillip.

"I'm full." She lies and pushes the half disturbed dish aside.

He raises an eyebrow, "you sure?"

She nods. "Um, curious," she breathes and holds up a finger. "How did you know to come find me last night?" She talks to the coffee pot on the stove.

Wyatt shifts left and stands in front of the coffee pot, forcing her attention. She groans a little. "I went to the office to pick up a few things. A buddy of mine came in talking about a pretty redhead living alone on a cliff side having some trouble. I knew it was you. I wanted to come by and check if you were okay."

"Really?" She's overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, Wyatt."

"Sincerity at last." He chuckles, "you're very welcome. I mean, I knew it was late, I just felt like I had to come and I'm glad I did; seems you were in a bind." He leans onto the counter, bringing himself closer to her. "My turn now, what happened last night?"

 "I...I –" Should I lie?

"Be honest, Josslyn. That's the only way I can help you."

She tilts her head. "How are you so good at this?"

"I'm a cop. I'd be dead if I couldn't read people."

She bites her lips and instantly recognizes his gaze has now trailed from her eyes to her lips. It's a strange arousal. She bends down to meet his eyes, forcing his attention. "Wyatt, I...I think I'm in trouble."

"Yeah?" his eyes narrow.

"Mm-huh. I-I went to Vegas a week ago. I met this guy, Phillip Rubin. I guess I riled him up. He got really angry so he followed me back home and now, I think he's trying to hurt me."

"Phillip Rubin? The Phillip Rubin? The one associated with Treasure Island?"

Josslyn nods. "You know him?"

"Not personally but I know of him. That guy's a spoiled brat. His father just kicked him out of the family business. He's a begrudging mess - six counts of sexual assault, theft, arson, and a murder trial everyone knows his Father bought him out of. Josslyn, you messed with the wrong guy."

He shakes his head disapprovingly. "I guess not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. What got him so angry?"

Josslyn shrugs sheepishly. "I...beat him at poker. That's about it." She's half honest.

"That doesn't make sense."

"He thinks I cheated."

"Did you?"

I did but she shakes her head.

"How much did you win?"

She groans a little, hesitant to give the number away. He narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"I won his two million."

"No shit." Wyatt scoffs in disbelief. "No wonder the guy's coming after you."

He goes silent for a good minute, as though trying exceptionally hard to digest her story.

"Well, if you're telling the truth and you didn't cheat and you're not hiding anything else from me – which you shouldn't be – because believe it or not, I may be the only person able to protect you, then you're innocent in all this... but I have to say Josslyn, I'm surprised, you don't look much like a gambler." He eyes her up and down.

Edwin does. She scratches her head. "Poker face," she responds wryly, pointing to her face.

He gives her a doubtful look and hands her a cup of water.

"Here's what we do." He begins to clear the dishes. "There's already an investigation going on at your place. It's a crime scene after all. I'm bringing you in for questioning – it's just protocol. You'll provide a full description of Phillip for records and we'll issue a search for the fucker. Then you'll come back here because there's no way I'm letting you out of my sight – at least until we find the bastard. And when we get the guy, I'll give him the ass kicking his Father never did." He slams the dishwasher shut and Josslyn can tell he's flustered.

Wyatt sighs in frustration, "I have one more question." He avoids eye contact with her, a stretch from his usual brazen demeanor. "Josslyn, why do you have such a large scar below your knee?"

She goes cold and shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. Every single question keeps getting harder to answer!

"You have your scars, Wyatt. I have mine. We don't need to divulge into that." She rises off her seat, completely defensive. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Answer me and I'll point you in the direction."

"I don't have to answer anything. In fact, I've answered enough questions." Josslyn hobbles to find out what's behind door number one.

Wyatt intercepts her. "Trust me, I know how hard it is to talk about old wounds. But that is a massive keloid scar stretching down your leg." Wyatt's throat tightens. "Josslyn, did someone hurt you?"

"Wyatt," Josslyn's voice whimpers to a beg. "Please, I don't want to talk about my scars."

She tries to wobble past him but he grabs her wrist, pulling her into his arms.

"Scars," said Wyatt.

"Scars?"

"Plural. Where are your other scars?" 

She's caught up in the moment, unsure how to react. The scar on her leg is just one among the many inside her mind, soul, and spirit. "I got this scar long time ago...and unlike you, I wouldn't waste a moment of my life counting the seconds away." 

***

The rest of the day went by quickly. After washing up, Josslyn went to the police station and told them the same story she told Wyatt. They too, gave her the same doubtful expression he gave her and asked for hard records to prove her story, which she easily supplies them with. 

She returns to her place to gather up a few change of clothing. Glancing out her bedroom door, she notices Wyatt eyeing the few pictures hanging on her wall – lopsided, no less. He straightens a frame upright and folds his arms as he glares at the selfie she'd taken under the hot desert sun with a caravan of camels and a pyramid in the backdrop.

When they arrive back at his place, they soon realize that Phillip's face has been plastered all over the local news. A search has begun to find him - or rather, to prove her story.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" She asks Wyatt as she glares at the contemporary gas fireplace situated within the brick wall. A line of flames dance in frenzy, bringing back unwelcoming memories of the cold winters she's endured back in Montana.

Heck, she's been chopping firewood since her little hands could grab the handle of an ax. Her father was a fucked up drunk who feared the devil and thought that strict religious practice is the only way God would forgive his sins. The stupid asshole, sloth is also a sin - one the callouses on her hands proves she's never committed before.

Opening the sliding glass door to the wrought iron balcony that mounts the top floor of this-seven story apartment building, she realizes Wyatt's got quite a view too. Unlike her place though, his view faces westbound to catch the sun sinking behind the mountains, creating streaks of warm colors high in the sky to contrast the now leafless trees and dull colorless city.

She sighs. Where are you Edwin? She knows he can't stray far for too long. She is his life force and without her presence, he'll surely die. He is bounded to her energy and that alone is the reason why he's been able to track her down every single lifetime. That's the reason why he dies when she dies; why he lives when she lives. The fact that she is here with another man is causing her guilt radar to go haywire.

If anything, she wants to go into the forest; into the depth of the Fog. She wants to wait for Edwin at their designated meeting spot. Should anything happen and he can't reach her, he will most likely be there.

Leaning against the railing, she feels the spot where her ring ought to be. Edwin should want her to superglue it attached to her finger when Wyatt is around. Surely if he had wanted her to remove it, it means he doesn't want Wyatt knowing about their marriage and there's no reason for Wyatt to know – really. Nothing will happen between now and when Edwin returns to take her away...right? She gulps.

She fidgets her fingers. To tell or not to tell, that is the question. To tell would be the overall right thing to do, but not to tell would probably be the proper thing to do at the current moment. She scratches her head, Edwin tell me what to do!

A cold breeze rudely reminds her that bitter winter is fast approaching. She glances down at the intricately carved pumpkins that span over Wyatt's balcony. Halloween is her favorite holiday, partly because she wasn't allowed to celebrate it growing up. It was a sin to celebrate in the devil's name but she always wanted to partake in the festivities, the spirit of it all.

She wobbles back inside with crutches and slides the door shut. The aroma of butternut squash beckons her toward the kitchen. "Did you carve those pumpkins?" She asks. "They're impressive."

"Yeah." Wyatt sucks his finger, nodding in approval at the pasta sauce to his dish. "I volunteer at the foster care center, carving pumpkins for kids for Halloween. Turns out, I'm a big hit there."

She smiles. She couldn't quite pinpoint why she disliked this guy so much. Her mind does a relapse, oh yeah, the snobby, overly brazen, slightly self-absorbed bravado - which surprisingly hasn't reared its ugly head.

Sitting on the stool, she admires his food flipping, pan tossing, knife chopping abilities. He gives her that 'I know I'm good' smile and she chuckles, there it is.

"Pink looks good on you." She teases him.

He downcast at his apron. "It was my wife's."

"Oh."

This man must have loved his wife a lot. She glances toward their wedding picture which is still clinging onto the wall – much like his attachment to her. The woman looked in her early 20's. She's gorgeous in her mermaid wedding gown with long brunette hair and a narrow face to match it. She looked like a very nice woman; someone Josslyn would have liked to meet.

"Your wife, Wyatt. She's beautiful."

He glances toward the picture. "Thank you."

"She's very special to you."

"She is. She was my hometown sweetheart. We got married in upstate New York. I got a full scholarship to Wharton in Philadelphia, but she's always loved Oregon and we were about to – " He cuts his sentence abruptly. "Anyways, we moved to Oregon so I studied Business Law here in Eugene."

"Business Law? At the police Academy?"

He bites his lips as though to refrain words. "Let's just say I feel more alive catching bad guys." He smiles.

He places a delectable dish in front of her, pieces of evergreen needle-like rosemary tops the thick yellow sauce with due care and elegance. She cocks her head. Wyatt is a Food Artist.

"Fettuccine with butternut squash Alfredo. It's a healthier option, and relatively easy to make. At 30 years of age and with my profession, I don't have time to entertain guests, but when I do, I'd like to think I treat them well."

She smiles. "And you do."

She glances at him. "Wyatt, I just want to thank you for everything you've done for me. The ice bucket, the crutches, giving me a place to stay, rescuing me last night, the free coffee at EugeneSide, and so much more. You're a...good man." She leans forward, locking his eyes. "I'm really sorry if I ever treated you bad – in fact, I know I have." Any act of exploitation ought to be.

He smiles. "I probably deserved it but...you're very much welcomed."

He sits opposite from her and say a quick prayer as they eat in silence beside a burning fireplace, next to a glass door overlooking the mountains while jack-o-lanterns flicker brightly from dwindling candles.

Josslyn couldn't help but feel a mellowing down to her soul. For the first time in her life she feels... normal. And normal feels so much better than guilt stuffed down the throat with lies and deceit. She wants to soak in this moment just a little bit longer before facing reality.

"You must take the night shift?" This man's got to work so she can take off to look for Edwin.

He shakes his head and swallows his food. "I'm on leave for the next three months."

What! She has to spend her nights with him? In this place? Edwin would furious!

"Remember the bullet wound on my shoulder?" Wyatt asks. "The Chief said my unwillingness to make use of my vacation days has finally caught up to me. He put me on a four month hiatus after this shooting. One month in and here I am...searching for cows to tip."

Wyatt chuckles and searches Josslyn's face. "You've gone pale. C'mon Joss, what do you take me for? I'll take the couch. You can take the bed."

She sighs in relief but couldn't hide her disappointment. How is she going to shake this guy off so she can go find her husband? Now she's trapped and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask Wyatt to help her search for Edwin again. That did not turn out pretty last time.

Should I even go find Edwin?

He did tell her to stay put and the last time she didn't listen, well, they're in this mess because of her own stubbornness. She sighs. She'd just better stay put. Edwin's laid out a plan and she shouldn't create wrinkles in the fabric. If she heads out into the fog, it's not as though she'd be able to protect herself from another bear or worst, Phillip. There's probably not enough pepper spray to fend off that bastard. She slumps into her stool, exhausted in defeat.

"Seems like you want to leave." Wyatt reads her mind again. "And I know exactly where to take you."

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