Lions Eat Lambs Sequel

I had a title, then I didn't like it, so it's a work-in-progress (as-is the fic), but I thought I would post half of the un-edited first chapter for anyone interested. For the most part, it picks up where Lions Eat Lambs left off, just in a different setting. I won't begin posting until I've completed the entire thing, or at least the majority so I may update quickly for your convenience. I expect this to be around fifteen chapters. 

Summary: 

Lured. Trapped. Hunted. Saved. Accused of murder.

Bella Swan thought the nightmare ended when he died.

She thought wrong.

There was a moment of insecurity when she felt unsafe even though trapped within flesh-colored walls. She'd been separated from the world, regardless if she could reach her arm through the iron bars and twist her fingers in the air of freedom. Her father occupied a small space next to her cell. He'd been idle so long in the metal chair, he'd lost feeling in both legs no matter which way he sat. He'd allow a sigh and a shift every once in awhile, but his impatience could never be masked. Chief Swan had a face of truth, an honest man down to the very core of his workings and bones. He'd never been able to lie even though he'd tried before, which was why police work had done so well for him, why he excelled where others had failed because honesty was hard to come by in his line of work.

With her father's sigh, Bella allowed her head to rest on the flat pillow, lingering on the dark, clouded thoughts as they passed over. The strange scent of the sheets covering the thin mattress filled Bella’s lungs until it hurt. The sterile air seemed familiar, arousing fuzzy memories against the sharp and cold present. A hospital, yes. They smelled of clean sheets from a hospital, though “clean” was questionable. Sure, they'd been washed, but how thoroughly, and by whom? Did this person care for their job, or was it a chore? The simplest meaning changed the idea of clean.

It'd been so long since the questioning she could barely recall the details as though it weren't real. The images were unclear, and only pieces of them fit together, creating an odd dream-like puzzle. She was there. It had to be real. All of it.

The woods, the camp out, a long wall and the house.

And if those were real, so was he. Those soulless red eyes took the last drop of sanity clinging to her bones before she rolled on her side to face the wall then closed her eyes. If she didn't see the room, it didn't exist. If there was no room, there was no man. No man, no nightmare, no thoughts of what-if.

She kept her back to her father, masking the true nature of her position as tears streamed down her face at the sight of the wall. She understood she'd never see the true day again unless bound in shackles. No one would ever believe her story, and she thought perhaps she would tell it differently if given the chance. She wondered about Jessica's health, if she was okay at the hospital and what she told the men who'd interrogated her. Would they believe her, then, if she and Jessica told the same story or would they think it was made up before arriving in a Mercedes which didn't belong to them?

What would they find at the house? Emmett, or the monster?

The warm tear turned ice cold the further it slid along her skin. The air incredibly chilled and unforgivable in that tiny cell, she began to shake. She wished she had a blanket to cover up with.

Charlie rubbed his hands together. “They've been gone a long time," he said, then looked to his daughter, noticing the way her shoulders hunched and shivered. "Are you cold?”

She wiped the tears away with a few fingers then turned to see her father taking off his Kennesaw police jacket. It wasn't very heavy, but he carried it with him and wore it until he could no longer stand the hot, Georgia heat. That didn't keep him from keeping it in his car, though. Bella reckoned that jacket had seen just about everything from car accidents to homicides.

He slipped it through the cell bars. “Go on. Take it. I'm not cold.”

Bella sat on the edge of the cot, the cold metal stinging the back of her legs. “What if you get cold?”

“You need it more than I do.” He shook it at her once more, a gentle push for her to take it from his hand. She obliged and wrapped herself in the familiar scent. It reminded her of her dad's cruiser; the cloth seats, and fast food fries that had stayed under the seat for too long, then there was his aftershave at the collar. It stood out against everything else.

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a slight grin.

He nodded. Before he sat down once more, he pulled his chair closer to the cell. He pushed his fingers together and leaned forward on his knees. He’d wanted to talk to her, more than he’d ever admit. He wanted to know she was okay, that she’d be okay, but more importantly... “Bells?” He didn't continue until he caught her eyes. “What really happened out there?”