Forbidden

A Novel

By

Courtney Meschelle Brewer

1. Change

My dad drove us down the manicured streets of Vernonia in silence. I frowned out the window. It was raining; the sky a dreary shade of gray.

The trip from Santa Ana, California to Vernonia, Oregon was not exactly what I would call enjoyable. Of course, that might have been open for argument if my dad, Steve, had went with my option -- the one that involved an airplane. But, because my father makes his living off a mechanics salary, I'd spent the past day and a half trapped in the iron confines of an '87 Chevy hatchback watching helplessly as the road brought me farther away from my home. I muffled a sigh.

"Rose. Stop it." The sudden strike of my father's voice made me jump. I had hoped my little moan would go unnoticed.

I turned to see his tanned face crumpled in frustration. My dad was still very young -- he'd just turned thirty-nine last November -- and so still possessed a handsome, rugged charm. But the past few months had taken their effect. A small number of gray strands had begun to sprout randomly about his short dark curls, and tired circles bounded his eyes.

"Now, I thought we'd talked about this," he continued in a fatherly tone. "You agreed that moving out would be the best way to start over--"

"Moving out of the house, not the state," I interjected. "You twisted my words! I agreed that Mom and Harold," I said his name with a disgusted snarl, "could have the house, and you and I could move somewhere else -- in SantaAna!"

"Now, let's get one thing straight, Rose Marie Rivers." My dad always insisted on using my full name when he was angry, to show his superior authority and all, which was really about as useful as poking an angry grizzly with a stick. "I did not twist your words, I would never trick you like that. I only assumed you knew what I meant."

My anger sizzled. "If I'd known what you meant, I would have chosen Mom," I mumbled harshly. I immediately regretted the words.

My dad's eyes fell slightly, then turned back towards the road. I remembered the last time I had seen my mother and father together. It was in a courtroom; the subject was me.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

My dad was silent for a minute and I wasn't sure if he had heard me. I opened my mouth to apologize again when he finally spoke.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," he admitted softly. "I thought this would be for the best -- that moving would help us forget about the… divorce." His face crumpled just a bit. "But I was only thinking about myself. I should have thought about how hard this would be for you. Leaving school your junior year. Leaving all your friends. But you'll make new ones, hon, faster than you think. Besides, you haven't seen Uncle Jim and Aunt Sara in a year; and I know Jennifer can't wait to see you again -- Jim says she's been talking about it for weeks." He paused. "It may take a little while, but we can make this work."

I just nodded and looked back out the window. "Yeah."

I had always thought my parents were happy together, like their love had not dwindled, as you see so often these days. But instead burned and strengthened as the years went on.

It made me happy. There was a feeling I would get when I saw the little gestures between them: my dad drying the dishes while my mom washed them, the way he would kiss her softly on the cheek everyday before he left for work, and every afternoon when he came back. The way they would cuddle on the couch when we watched old movies, my dad wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. It made everything feel clear. Like life was in one mode, black and white -- he loved her, she loved him -- and that was it. Everything was right, the way it was supposed to be.

It wasn't until three months ago, when I came home a little earlier than expected from the library -- and not thinking twice about the strange truck parked in our driveway -- that it all came crashing down.

Standing there in the door way of my parents bedroom, watching my mother's frantic explanations as the owner of the strange truck slipped his pants back on over his boxers, was when I finally came to terms with reality. Love was an emotion, and like all emotions, able to change within an instant. There was no such thing as unconditional, it was merely a word thought up by scholars and romanced poets, nothing more. The world is not in black and white, but consumed by shades of gray. Change is inevitable, unstoppable and uncontrollable. Nothing is absolute.

Not even love.

My dad turned on a road that led away from the cramp and clutter of the city and we began to glimpse more of the extensive forest that surrounded Vernonia. A house would appear every mile or so, but other than that it was more or less empty. It was unsettling how quickly the change from civilization to wilderness could take place here. It felt wrong.

We took a left about fifteen minutes later, a few miles outside the city limits, on a muddy trail that winded it's way through the encroaching forest. A mailbox to its right was the only clue to it being a driveway. This was not encouraging. My house back home had a picket fence and a concrete driveway. Something, perhaps the rain or the mud splattering my window, told me that neither of those things were awaiting me at the end of this trail.

A minute later and the trees broke to reveal a circular lawn of about four to five acres, green forest lining it at the edges. In the center stood a small, colonial style, two-story house.

To my immense surprise, I smiled -- a wide porch wrapped around the whole thing. It was adorable, covered in white paint from top to bottom, except for the shutters which were a glossy black. Four primordial looking firs stood just meters away from its walls, shading it with their vast sweep of branches.

"W-o-w." I pronounced each syllable separately as the car rolled to a stop. "It's… amazing." There was no other honest way to describe it. Though small, it looked warm, comfortable. "How did we afford this again?"

"Well, you were too young to remember, I guess, we haven't been here since you were four, but it belonged to your great grandmother."

"And she left it to you?" I presumed. He was right, I didn't have many memories of my toddler hood in Vernonia, they were too long ago now, and most of them were just flashes of Christmas' and Thanksgivings at Uncle Jim's house.

"No, not just me," he answered. "She left it to the family. And Jim and I are the only family there is, so we'd just used it for an extra place to stay when we came up for holidays. You really don't remember this place at all?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

Steve exhaled heavily. "Well, I guess that's my fault. I should've put my foot down with your mother. I know that she hated it up here, it was always too cold or too wild - just not her. But it was no reason to keep you from coming." He shook his head. "You could've gotten to know your grandmother and grandfather better, and the same goes for Jim, Sarah, and the kids. Your mother just couldn't see that."

I hated it when he did this… defended Mom, even when she didn't deserve it. Almost as though he was afraid to say a bad word against her, or maybe he just couldn't. It was just not in him to hurt her, even though he had every right to. Even though she hurt him. But I guess that was his choice. Besides, I had enough resentment for the both of us. Of course, I knew better than to show him that.

"Dad," I began gently, "I knew Papaw and Grammy just fine. We were very close and I loved them just as much as I would have if I'd lived everyday with them. And don't worry about Jim and the family, okay. We live here now, so I've got plenty of time to catch up on what I've missed," I said, smiling for his sake.

He returned the smile, though his was a bit more genuine. I was pleased to see that.

"Well then, does that mean you're liking it here now?" Steve asked teasingly.

I narrowed my eyes. "It's getting better." Unfortunately for him, I wasn't completely passed my pouting mode yet.

"Well, kido, it's even more amazing inside. Better than home," he assured as he exited the car.

The inside was even more charming than the exterior, just like my dad had promised. Almost everything in the house was wood. The walls were cedar, giving the house a clean, open feel. The floors, I suppose, were maple because of their sleek honey color. You could tell that the house had been renovated at some point, perfectly replicated so that it could hold on to its hundred year old craftsmanship, without the hazard of it crumbling on your head. While Steve carried our small belongings into the den, I went upstairs with my bags.

There was only room enough for one decent sized bedroom and extra bathroom on the second story. I was excited about that -- like my own little loft. The bedroom was nice, not as big as the one I had back home, but it had its perks. It had a high vaulted ceiling and cozy little recess in the eastern wall where the one window was located. I set my things on the bare floor and walked over to the window. I definitely had the best view in the house, I concluded, as I looked out over the eastern tree line to a brook that flowed nearby.

I don't know how it happened, perhaps it was the simplicity of the land or the idea of a chance at starting new, but I was beginning to feel better about things -- not overthem, but better.

Before the divorce, along with its courtrooms and gossip, my life was simple, unflawed, with everything as it should be. I had friends. I had things that I liked to do. I was normal.

But then the divorce happened and it seemed like my life had been hurled out of control. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, being thrown down that black hole, with familiar objects passing me by on the way down, safe memories, but all too far to grab on to. I was left alone, screaming and spinning violently in the dark with nothing to stop the chaos. And that is what it's been like ever since, for four months. Until now.

I turned to look at my room again. It felt new, well, it was new, I guess, in the sense that no one has lived here in over a decade. I had no memories of this room, or this house, not even of the street I rode to get here. I didn't know the neighbors. Heck, I didn't even know if we had neighbors. There was nothing familiar about the squeaky floorboards, or the enormous trees outside. There was nothing to compare, no resemblance of the life I used to know. No bad memories, nothing.

Nothing to remind me of her.

It was a new life, a fresh start. There would always be the bad parts still there, of course, deep inside me, I knew that. But they would be hidden away. I would bury them beneath new parts, better parts. My life would keep going and I would follow. I could be normal again. Whole and average once more. Be just like everyone else.

And in a plain town like Vernonia, Oregon, it should be no problem at all.

* * *

"Rose, hurry up, she's here!" My dad's voice echoed from downstairs the next morning.

I sighed. "Coming!"

The soft sunlight shown through my bathroom window as I finished up my usual morning ritual. I quickly ran the brush through my hair once again, trying to tame it into a style I liked, before finally deciding that regardless of how my hair looked it wasn't going to make this day any easier.

The last time I had seen my Dad's family was last summer when they came down on vacation to California. It was just his older brother Jim, his wife Sara, and their two kids Jennifer and Scotty. Jennifer was my age and I hung out with her for most of their stay, surprisingly enough. She was my complete opposite. Her curly, strawberry-blonde hair flowed to the small of her back and framed her light blue eyes. Her body was tone and she had a natural russet tint to her skin. She blended perfectly with the Cali scenery. Not at all like me, I had too much of my mother.

I wasn't blonde. My hair was brown and boringly straight. I was tall and thin, but delicate somehow, lacking any muscle mass -- it was a chore just to bring my suitcases up the stairs. I guess I was tan at least, with the exception of a few tan lines. It sort of came with the territory in Santa Ana. I would lose it soon enough.

I set the brush down on the bathroom counter and hurried over to my bedroom. When I got there, I couldn't help but examine it with pride once again. I'd made certain that my new room looked nothing like the one back home did. I was pretty impressed with how comfortable it turned out.

My tiny twin bed was against the center of the north wall, my night stand to its right. A desk, holding my computer and newly acquired school supplies was in the far corner just beyond the small recess and window, and my dresser was in the adjoining corner. Dad even remembered to grab the old quilt that my grandmother had made me. It was folded neatly over the back of the computer chair. There were a few boxes I still had to unpack full of my art materials, but it wasn't much. Actually I was running low on supplies. I wondered if Vernonia had an art store.

As soon as I was out of my pajamas and into normal clothes, I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. I was greeted by a girly shrill.

"Rose, oh my goodness! I've missed you so much, you have no idea!" Jennifer was at my side almost immediately, pulling me into a two-armed hug.

I patted her on the back. I couldn't actually say the same. Her impulsive tendencies were something I'd learned to shy away from.

"Well I'm all yours now," I said. I hope no one picked up on my anxiety. Unless of course it meant getting me out of this day.

Jen released me and giggled. "I know! Isn't it just so cool? We are going to have so much fun."

I scanned the tiny kitchen. "Where is everybody?"

"Mom and Scotty are in Portland doing some school shopping. And Dad is at some annual auto conference thing in Washington."

"Yep," Steve popped in, "Jim told me about that. It's a shame I have to miss it. Well you girls have fun, and be very careful today, okay. Put on your seatbelts and lock your doors even if there are a lot of people around. Got it, Rose?" He bumped me on the arm.

"Yes, Dad." I promised. "You don't have to worry." Well, actually, if I remembered Jen's driving correctly, he probable does. I shuddered. "Jen will be sure to drive extra carefully," I added. "Right, Jen?"

Jennifer scoffed, "Of course."

"Alright. I'm gonna head on to the shop, then," Steve said slipping into his black mechanics jacket. It was new, with the also new 'Rivers Brothers' Auto Supply and Repair' logo on the back. "I said I'd take over Jim's shift while he's out. See you tonight."

We ended up leaving right behind him, following him the whole way into town as well, which slowed Jennifer's driving down considerably. She didn't like that very much -- I hid my smile -- though it provided her with extra time for one-sided conversation.

She jabbered on about her friends and boys she liked. She had gone on a date recently with one of the popular guys in school and it went well. They had kissed, which, according to Jen, left little doubt that they would be going steady soon. She couldn't wait to introduce me to everyone. I tried to smile and act happy, but just the thought of going to an unfamiliar school in an unfamiliar town next week was making me nauseous.

I veered my thoughts elsewhere.

"So, what did you have in mind today, Jen?" I asked. We were in town now, and I knew we couldn't keep driving around forever. There had to be some objective.

"Well, it's almost twelve and I'm starving so do you want to go eat, and then we can go shopping? I really need to get some new clothes before school starts up again," she rolled her eyes, as if showing up on the first day of school wearing the same shirt and shoe combination as the previous year would be outrageous.

"That's fine."

We pulled into the parking lot of an old fashioned pizza parlor called La Belle Pizzeria a few minutes later. I let Jen lead the way as we walked down the concrete sidewalk to the front entrance while I took in the view. Vernonia was a lovely little city of course, I couldn't deny that. People were strolling down the sidewalks, holding bags and sporting brightly colored trenches as they visited the many businesses that dotted Main Street. The highways were busy, and about half of the cars on the roads were shiny and obviously of value.

So, though it was a small town, Vernonia catered to the rich. A seamless little tourist-trap.

When we got to the doors, Jennifer moaned.

"Ugh. I can't believe they still have these up! It's been three days now since he was found."

I had no clue what she was talking about, until I looked at what was posted on the large double doors in front of us.

"Joshua Robinson? Who is that?" The name, second only to the large photo of a cherub faced little boy smiling so fiercely his eyes seemed to completely disappear behind his cheeks, was the most visible point on the missing posters that riddled the doors.

"He's my dad's friend's kid… well… was," she corrected herself. "They had his funeral yesterday," she clarified.

"He looks only about five or six years old," I said shocked. "What happened?" My curiosity buzzed. I'm only human.

"He went missing about a week and a half ago," she said as we entered the restaurant. "Like I said, they found him three days ago."

"Where at? Somewhere near town or his house?"

Jen shrugged. "I don't know. I think it was near his house, but I don't know for sure." Jennifer turned away from me, before I could pop out another question, to direct the hostess.

I waited until the hostess was done seating Jen and I before continuing my inquiry.

"Well, was it an accident, or do they know?"

"No, they know," Jen said, her eyes shifty, troubled. "It wasn't an accident."

"Then what was it?" I asked.

She shrugged. "An animal… a bear, or maybe wolves, the police aren't sure. A lot of people are upset. Cory, the guy I've been dating, his mother works at the police station and she says we need to get the wildlife rangers out here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this has been the fourth killing this month," she explained. "And there have been other one's in towns around us, at least one every month. My dad has been part of the search parties looking for the animal responsible, he and half the town have searched the forest at least a hundred times but they've found nothing, not footprints or shelters. Like whatever it is, is smart enough to cover it's tracks… Anyways, there is no way I'm going off alone anywhere near those woods," She reached for her menu then and opened it wide. "What are you getting?"

I wasn't hungry anymore. The woods she was talking about were the very woods I lived in, right smack in the middle.

We finished our meal quickly -- I got a salad. About halfway through Steve had called me asking a favor. There were some car parts that'd been delivered to the post office today and since they were short handed at the shop he wondered if Jen and I wouldn't mind picking them up for him. I didn't mind. Jennifer was a little put out I think, but I hadn't gotten to see the shop yet, and it seemed like more fun than dressing rooms.

When we pulled up to the small three garaged building after stopping by the post office, I was pretty impressed.

The shop looked like something out of a fifties flick, with it's red and white walls and black tin roof. I was expecting a dingy looking, oil stained, gray construction. This was anything but. And speaking of old fashioned things. As soon as we entered the parking lot, my eyes honed in on the most gorgeous car I'd ever seen -- in real life, that is. I was familiar with this car only through the internet and Steve's auto magazines.

It was a black Chevrolet Impala. I couldn't quite tell what year it was, either '67 or '68 for sure, but kept in remarkable condition.

Jennifer mumbled something when we rolled up to the front of the store, but I didn't hear it, my attention was elsewhere.

"I'm gonna wait here, okay," she said, not even bothering to hide her irritation at having to hold off her shopping spree for a few minutes. "I think I might give Cory a call. He's been texting me."

"Oh, well that's great. Maybe this time he'll pop the question" I said infusing my tone with a little more enthusiasm than necessary -- I didn't want to deal with her sulking when I got back. I was relieved when she giggled.

"Don't get my hopes up," she said, a little more animated.

I gave her and quick smile as I slid out the passenger door. "I wont be long."

I went inside the shop and straight up to the counter. A boy in his early twenties greeted me.

"Hey. What can I do for you, miss?"

"I'm here to see my dad, Steve Rivers. I've got some packages for him."

Recognition flooded his eyes. "Oh! Cool. You're boss's girl, huh? Nice to meet you," he shot out a hand. "I'm Brad."

"Rose," I smiled sheepishly, taking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, I already know your name. Your dad loves to talk about you." He laughed to himself, as if enjoying an inside joke, which made me instantly wary of what Steve has been divulging about me behind my back.

"Let me go get him for you," the boy said, smiling amusedly and exiting out a side door. The sound of drills and power tools suddenly emanated from the other side, until the door closed again and it was muffled once more. I rolled my eyes, annoyed by my new found fame with a stranger that will forever see me as a punch line thanks to dear old dad. I'll have to remember to go over the essence of father-daughter confidentiality with him again when we get home.

I glanced around me, taking in the interior of the room. I was in the supply part of the shop, and it looked well stocked. Over towards the left, where the shop extended farther back past the front desk, there were aisles and aisles of tools, parts, kits, and other car paraphernalia. Occupying one of the aisles, directly across from where I stood, was a boy. I hadn't even noticed him before.

He was tall, probably a foot taller than myself. His hair was short at the bottom, gradually growing just a little bit longer at the top and a bit ruffled, and a midnight black. He was wearing a simple black hoodie and dark denim jeans, setting off the color of his tan skin. I didn't mean to, but I allowed my eyes to follow him as he perused the aisle. I was caught off guard when he suddenly looked away from the shelves he was searching, directly at me.

I quickly looked down, turning my head away at the same time. I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

From my peripheral vision, and to my horror, I could see him coming closer. The hairs on my arms prickled at his approach. The next second, my heart was stopping to the sound of a heavy thud as he set a large looking metal cylinder on the counter.

An elderly tender manning the register turned around.

"Will that be all Mr. Romhurst?" he asked in a frail tone.

"That's all. For now, anyways," the boy said with a crooked grin. His voice was gentle and deep, and I found my heart beating harder to the sound.

Being so close, no farther than a foot apart, I suddenly felt in danger of reaching out and touching him, feeling his flesh beneath my fingertips. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. The flawless plane of his cheeks held hues of russet with golden undertones, making his skin appear to glow under the fluorescent lighting. It seemed so smooth. Like velvet, or cream.

He was very well-built, broad muscles bounding his arms. Perhaps he was an athlete, a football player or basketball star. He had his sleeves pushed up passed his forearms and I could see the veins bulging beneath the tanned skin. The pronounced line of his chest was visible even beneath his black hoodie.

I continued to study this Romhurst boy as the teller rung him up and they chatted idly. I admired his face. The soft hard line of his jaw was finely offset by the round tip of his nose and full mouth. It was kind, gentle, a sort of face you could picture on a brother or a best friend.

But, something was troubling about it, too.

His eyes, a pale cinereal gray -- by far his most exquisite feature -- seemed strangely dulled, lifeless. They were incased by red coloring on the edge of his eyelids, as if he'd been rubbing them raw. I remembered when my grandparents died, both within the same month, and the way my dad had looked during those weeks, so broken. It was weird to assume this boy was that out of sorts, I mean, I didn't even know him. This could just be his personality for all I knew. Even so, he seemed detached, like he was bored of something. But he continued to talk with the teller, shaking his head and smiling at times. I recognized the smile -- it was one I practiced often when I wanted to convince Steve I wasn't miserable.

"I also have that shipment of yours in the back if you would like to pick it up now?" asked the old man, a good breadwinner.

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Andrews," the boy acknowledged his help with another smile.

As soon as Mr. Andrew's back was turned, the smile disappeared, the mask no longer required.

I felt a rush of pity. There had to be something the matter with him, something to make him this unhappy. My own problems seemed petty.

He must have felt me watching him, even though I swore I wasn't being the slightest bit obvious, because he turned and glanced at me then, eyebrows furrowed in question.

I turned away, pretending to be busy with a lock of my hair. It seemed childish, but at the moment I couldn't breathe. I hated being caught staring. He probably thinks I'm crazy. How embarrassing.

The side door to the garage opened again, and the young worker came up to the counter, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

"Sorry about that wait. We had a problem with one of our lifts. They can get a little tricky. Boss said you can bring those packages around back."

I was happy for the escape. Already I could feel the mortification and awkwardness by being caught ogling at this dark, beautiful boy. Not much for a first impression.

It was a relief to be in the cool air once again. I opened the passenger side of Jen's sedan. I'd been worried about how long I'd spent in the shop and making Jennifer wait on me. My worries were in vain. The driver's seat was reclined the full 180 degrees with Jen comfortably sprawled out on top, laughing and talking enthusiastically on her cell phone.

I gestured to the trunk when she noticed me.

Thankfully there were only two packages which together were heavy enough to make my knees shake. It was strenuous, but I managed to get around to the first garage entrance. Steve saw me then and ran to my aid.

"Here, Rose, give me those. You shouldn't strain yourself, you could hurt something," he scolded, pulling the boxes from my arms.

"I think I already did." My back pinched as I stretched to rub it. "Ow."

"Yup, see."

I shot him a look.

"Sorry, hon," Steve said, smiling in apology. "Are you okay? Want me to grab a chair?"

"No, it's fine, Dad," I waved my hand at him. "I'll go take my problems somewhere more convenient." A sharp pain surged through my muscle then, forcing a moan out of me. "The morgue should be open right?"

"Yeah, but they don't take walk-ins, kido. Looks like you'll just have to try your luck with Tylenol instead," he chuckled, pulling out a drawer to what looked like a huge red toolbox. He tossed me a white, plastic bottle. "Now just take two," he mocked.

"Goodbye, Dad," I ignored. I put the Tylenol bottle in my pocket and headed back to the car.

As I walked across the lot, taking each step carefully to ease the sting in my back, I glimpsed the dark haired boy from inside. He was loading a large package into the trunk of a sleek, black car. It was the Impala. Now I knew there was something wrong with him, for sure. I couldn't imagine someone in possession of a classic like that ever being unhappy. Just the fact that he had it meant he was living in the lap of luxury -- or wanted by the IRS.

He slammed down the hood of the trunk and walked around to the driver side. But before getting in, he stopped. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Then, unexpectedly, he looked across the parking lot at me.

Staggered, I smiled on impulse.

He looked away, without so much as a courtesy nod, closed the door and pulled out of the lot.

I rolled my eyes. Still creeped out I see. Between my embarrassment and my aching back, shopping with Jen seemed like overkill. I thought up excuses for going home early the rest of the way back to her car.

I was nervous she wouldn't take no for an answer, and certain of it when not even the nightmare of getting me to sit easily in the passenger seat -- without passing out from physical agony -- was gaining her sympathy.

Finally she gave up when another surge or pain through my back muscle made me scream so loud it gained puzzled looks from people on the other side of the street.

I dry swallowed three Tylenol after that.

Jennifer didn't bother talking to me on the way back. I didn't bother talking either, not even to let her know that her driving was making me sick -- without Steve in front of us to subjugate Jen's improper use of horse power, she refused to drive below seventy the whole way home. Jennifer seemed to understand my uneasiness, though she didn't slow down. The look on her face made it clear that she was more concerned for her fine leather upholstery being vomited on than she was for me.

When we arrived at the house I told her not to worry and, feeling guilty for ruining her day of shopping, that we should reschedule. She fervently nodded -- probably still expecting me to throw up -- and drove away.

I carefully climbed the ten steps to the top of the porch, all the while clutching my back, and entered the house with an exasperated sigh. I was happy when I reached my room. I picked up my old quilt off the back of the computer chair and wrapped it around me, falling heavily onto my bed. The pain killers were starting to kick in and the muscles in my back were beginning to relax. I kicked my jeans off awkwardly and pulled myself under the comforter as well and, before I knew it, I was sleeping.

2. Introductions

The week that followed my painful first outing went without incident. Dad kept fussing over my back, pulling out my chairs and doing practically everything for me like some gentleman out of a Bronte novel, though he needn't bother. I was only playing up the hype to keep Jennifer away. She'd stopped bugging me about my empty promise of rescheduling when, after the second day, I was still 'not feeling up to it'. I was also relieved that Jen hadn't successfully rallied her friends to introduce me yet. I'm not very good with meeting new people. Actually, sometimes I don't even like people, and that sets me back a bit when it comes to making friends. Even back in California the most I ever had were acquaintances, classmates I would do homework with or go out with for something to do. To my parents they were my friends, but in reality, they didn't know me and I really didn't know them -- or I just never cared to. It's a trust issue I have. And most people, I've learned, just aren't that reliable. So I was a little nervous about school in the morning.

But I didn't want to think about that until I had to.

I stayed at home alone most of the week. Steve seemed to be in high demand at the shop, which I didn't mind. It was oddly thrilling. Not to mention, the solitude gave me plenty of time to catch up on my household tasks without distraction. We didn't have much laundry yet since Steve and I had only been living here a little less than a week, so that didn't take long -- I moved on to unpacking the rest of the boxes in my room, stashing what art supplies I had in the top shelf of my closet.

I flipped on the TV late Sunday afternoon just for something to do. I'd already cleaned the kitchen, read my tattered copy of Jane Eyre, again, and now I was watching newscasters prattle on about the latest political scandals. I waited up until the weather report before deciding that today would be a perfect day to get out of the house -- the local weatherman had predicted a cold front to come in tonight and into the next week, so I needed to take advantage of the nice weather while I could.

After calling my dad and letting him know where I would be, I grabbed my keys and some money from off my nightstand and headed out the door.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do in town, but I was confident I could think of something. I'd fanned through the yellow pages earlier today to see if I could find any art shops, but the closest one listed was in Forrest Grove, a city of about 20,000 people, 25 miles west of Portland. It sounded like a good place to start.

The air smelled clean and crisp outside as I made my way across the earthen driveway to my car. You could smell the cold coming.

When I reached for the driver side door, the handle popped back under my fingers. I guess Steve had bothered to lock my doors when he left it here before our move, though the idea of someone stealing my car was ridiculous. It was a faded blue, 1969 Ford Mustang, and I could see the allure in the name, but, honestly, it would cost more to fix than it's worth.

I fumbled with my keys and unlocked the door. A metallic groan infused with a high pitched squealing sprang from its hinges as I heaved the door open. I mentally noted to mention to something Steve about borrowing a can of greaser.

Inside the cab it still smelled like old leather and cigarettes. I'd hated this smell when I first bought the car. It burned my nose and gave me a headache. Then, somewhere in the time I wasted scrubbing down seats and buying too much car freshener, I got used to it. It was a familiar, safe smell to me now… it was my car. I turned the key in the ignition and let out a sigh of relief when it rumbled to life. Dad must've worked his mechanic's magic on the debilitated engine since it wasn't making the funny noises it usually did. Still, I didn't get my hopes up -- my car had a reputation for going kaput at quite possibly any moment, funny noises not required.

The drive to Forest Grove felt long, though it only took forty-five minutes. It was mainly woods the entire way there, closing in on both sides of the highway like a dark green tunnel.

In town I did some blameless shopping, just poking around really. I found a few book stores on the southern side of the city that were part of a long shopping district full of cafes and odd boutiques. I had to force myself not to spend all my money.

By the time I had finished up in a Hobby Lobby -- I bought a couple canvases and oils -- it was already six o'clock. I figured I should be getting home before it got too dark.

I was just entering the Vernonia city line when my car jerked suddenly and I began losing speed. "Oh, no, no, no, no!" I screamed at my car.

I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal. The car revved at high volume, then began shifting up and down repeatedly, before completely losing transmission. Aggravated, I pulled over as far as I could without colliding into the forest, however when I stopped, my car was still halfway on the pavement. I attempted to restart the engine a few times, but it wouldn't turn over.

Cruddy mustang, I complained to myself.

I tried quickly to remember what my dad had told me to do in case of a breakdown. First, pull over. Check.

Second, make yourself noticeable to other drivers. I reached over and flicked on my hazard lights.

Third, wait inside your vehicle with the doors locked and call someone for help. I unbuckled my seatbelt. I guess Steve didn't figure in the cell phone bit when he was lecturing me on this, and I wasn't about to wait for someone to drive by and rescue me. I just wish I would've brought my jacket.

I turned off the car and got out, leaving the hazard lights on. I remembered seeing a driveway a block before the city line earlier this afternoon on the way to Forest Grove, and I hadn't passed one yet, so it should be just up the road.

I braved the bitter cold night that the trusty local weatherman had predicted would arrive, clad only in a thin dark blue sweater. With each violent shiver that rolled up my spine, was a tempting thought about running back to the warm forsakenness of my very dead mustang. It was dark, too dark to be walking outside indiscriminately with only the silver light of the moon guiding me along my path.

I hoped this driveway I had in my head was real, and I hadn't simply gotten it confused with some random gap in the trees. The forest was making creepy sounds, like twigs breaking, and abrupt stirrings of wings, and I was starting to play back what Jen had told me at the restaurant Monday.

This has been the fourth killing this month… a bear, or maybe wolves… Anyway, there is no way I'm going off alone anywhere near those woods…

A coldness that had nothing to do with the weather, crept up my spine now. I walked faster.

Joy that had me literally shouting out in relief, coursed through my icy frame as I glimpsed the warm ginger glow that signified a driveway.

"Oh thank God!" I sang when I reached the safe embrace of light. It was coming from two electric, reproduction oil lamps atop a couple of square, stone pillars. My heart sank --between those pillars was a large, intricately designed iron entrance gate.

Not sure whether or not I could enter, I stepped forward. The gate, mercifully, jolted and, little by little, rolled open letting me advance.

I followed the gravel path leading further into the thick abyss of evergreens than I was comfortable with. I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed harshly for some friction. The path seemed to go on for a while -- and my nose was starting to drip -- then finally it broke through the thicket of ferns and underbrush, and I could better understand the purpose for the iron admission. I was looking at a great circular courtyard based with white gravel leading right up to the face of a breathtaking mansion made of dark gray stone, practically blending it in with the night. The windows were glowing and I was suddenly nervous.

Taking a breath, I walked cautiously across the courtyard to the front door, climbing a half-spherical marble stair that served as a porch. My knuckle stung with the contact of thick, coarse oak as I knocked.

No answer.

I could hear a collage of music, voices, and laughter coming from inside -- obviously a party of some sort -- and I warily tried again.

Still no answer.

I closed my eyes and took a long jagged breath. As much as I didn't want to ruin whatever festivities were taking place inside, I was freezing and I really didn't want to walk the whole way back to my car to die of hypothermia.

I clasped my hand around the frozen doorknob, miraculously unlocked, and let myself in.

The large entrance hall was bright with chandelier light and very warm, for which I was grateful. Guests were everywhere, filling the hall and long, curving staircase. All were adorned in expensive looking gowns, diamonds, and tuxedos.

I suddenly felt very subconscious. The exquisite faces that I saw before me were of nothing I'd ever seen before, utterly beautiful. Not even one of them was flawed in any way that my meticulous eyes could see. I started to wonder exactly what I had gotten myself in to. The draperies of silk and gem clad garments clung to their bodies in a seductively alluring way.

I pressed myself against the wall, embossed in elegantly etched wood that I was all of a sudden afraid to even touch. As I watched, a few of the guests turned toward me, making the anxiety in my chest flutter -- I noticed that their eyes were all the same, a glinting, pearly silver. The blood pumped furiously through my veins, and I could feel the throbbing in my head. I retreated into an even brighter room off to the right when more and more guests started becoming aware of my intrusion.

This room, considerably larger and much more grand, was laid out in black and white checkered marble floors. Columns, spaced evenly around the edge of the room, creating just enough gap as a decent hallway, rose up some twenty-five feet into a purposely worn mirrored ceiling. I felt like a mere speck amongst the incredible architecture. Figurines of violent angels holding long spears and battling amongst each other were fixed in the barrel vaults of the ceiling -- figurines that were completely sheathed in gold.

Guests packed this room as well, chatting in corners and lounging in the pieces of plush furniture alongside the soaring ornate walls. The music was considerably louder now, an operatic piece. Beyond the mass of silver and black, in the center of the great space, was an unnaturally large congregation of people. It took only a second before I realized that they were dancing, everyone in step with the other. It looked like a choreographed scene that was in fashion about the early 1800's.

So, I thought to myself, I'm in a ballroom… wonderful.

I thought for a moment about retreating back out the door -- death by unusually low body temperature seemed more enjoyable than the uncomfortable awkwardness I was currently feeling. But my thought was cruelly shattered when, by the time I'd turned around, more guest had already closed in behind me, blocking my exit. They appeared to all be staring at me, whispering and smiling, as if not even trying to hide their amusement at someone so obviously plain in comparison to themselves.

I was overwhelmed in the thicket of a mass of curious, judgmental strangers weighing my every move against me. I stumbled into the ballroom, fleeing the highbrow idiots occupying the vestibule. Trying carefully not to step on the train of a dress or smack into a suit, I made my way into the horde of beautiful, horrible creatures. Halfway through, I stopped. What was I doing? These people didn't want to help me. They can't stand the sight of me! As if to make my point, two women strolled past, casually cupping their hands into each others ears and grinning derisively. I felt the heat rushing to my face. I wanted so badly to scream at them.

"Lost?" a light voice said behind me, causing me to jump. I turned to see a boy maybe a couple years older than I, standing just a few feet away. He was handsome, with a lean build, dark-brownish hair sweeping sharply across his face, and those same unusual cinereal eyes that seemed to be some sort of fad here. But the turn of his brow made me immediately cautious.

"Strange," he continued in a charming manner, his lip curling up to one side. "As a host, it is my obligation to know every guest present." He walked closer, closing the distance between us as he spoke. "But you, seem to escape me."

I could hear the insulting edge to his tone, as well as the double meaning to his words that I wasn't supposed to be here. But he kept the delicate, friendly smile on his face.

"I'm sorry. My car broke down about a block from here."

"That's too bad," he said, jutting out his bottom lip in mock sympathy. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Are you with anyone?" A couple twirled passed me on the dance floor, brushing my arm.

"No." I didn't like the way he was looking at me, up and down as if I were some juicy piece of meat.

"I see." He tilted his head to one side, and I felt the hairs on my neck raise. Something about his eyes seemed strange, excited. "And does anyone know you are here?" he inquired further in a tranquilly sweet voice.

I was just about to answer with 'no', but another voice interrupted before I could force a sound -- a low, gentle sound, that I immediately recognized.

"Yes," the boy from the shop said, answering the question.

"Ian," the long haired boy greeted. His eyes were squinted into tight slits at Ian's arrival, his face amused.

"I just got off the phone with Rose's father," Ian informed us. "He is on his way now." He came to rest in between myself and the first boy. He seemed stiff, tensed. "Thank you, Patrick, but I can take her from here."

"Of course," the boy, Patrick, said, bowing his head in a strangely out-of-date fashion. He was still eying Ian inquisitively.

"This way," Ian commanded, gesturing me forward.

I walked as he said, letting him lead me through the crowd of visitors. They were all staring at us, their expressions changed from the earlier amusement to a set that ranged from disapproval to clear outrage. I folded my arms around my chest, affected.

Close behind me, I could feel Ian.

"Just through these doors," he said when we reached the end of the ballroom. We were behind the protection of pillars now and the narrow enclosure they made had us shrouded in shadow.

Then a thought occurred to me.

"Did you really call my dad?" I asked abruptly.

He seemed impatient, but smiled, a trace of shame on his face. "No. Um, that was a lie."

I wasn't quite sure what to say to that -- not because he just told me he'd lied about helping me and here I was following him into the shadows, and pretty soon, a remote part of the mansion. I was speechless because he had smiled.

The smile was still in place as his ash eyes studied mine, waiting for my response, but I couldn't find words. All I was seeing were those adorable dimples and the way his eyes looked, so light compared to the last time I'd seen him, though they still had the red, tender coloring around the edges. The loveliness of his face was almost as shocking as his presence here at all. I'd already figured that I would never see him again after our one embarrassing chance meeting at the shop -- embarrassing on my end. And now I encounter him once again in the most random place ever.

"There's a telephone just in the study," he said encouragingly, then glanced over his shoulder suddenly, momentarily distracted. I noticed his eyes squint infinitesimally, angrily.

"We should be going," he spoke again, turning swiftly to look down at me. I glanced over to the ballroom again, wondering what he was so upset about. The guests were still watching us, their slate colored eyes still judging -- were they all wearing contacts? I could see Patrick, he was talking with a few boys his age -- though they were angled away from us, their faces hidden. Every now and then he would look our way.

"That is, unless you want to stay out here," Ian pushed, his eyebrows raised high.

"Um, no." I said, hysteria coating my reply.

"Didn't think so."

I cringed as we exited through a side door that opened up into a lounge area. "Am I that obvious?"

"Do you want the truth, or would you like me to lie again?" Ian asked when the door was secure behind us. He seemed to be more relaxed

"The truth would be nice."

He chuckled. "The truth is, they aren't very pleasant people. You shouldn't worry yourself about it."

He smiled and showed me through two heavy, oak doors that led into a long hall.

"So," I said, continuing the conversation freely now that his eyes weren't currently incapacitating me. "would it be nosy if I asked what all that is for?" I motioned behind us, indicating the party still going on.

"Not at all," he said, slowing down to match my pace. "I'm actually glad to have someone decent to talk to. It's a farewell celebration for my family."

"Oh." My voice cracked. I looked down, depressed. We'd only just met. "Well… it's um… it's a nice party. Very… uh… nice," I finished, stupidly. I was trying to figure out why I was sad. Like I said, we'd only just met -- I shouldn't feel this gloomy.

I felt him eying me as he opened the door to yet another room of the mansion. I walked passed him, stopping to let him in the lead again.

"Yes," Ian agreed airily, walking beside me once more. "It is nice… But I can't say I will miss them," he said creating another dimple faced smile for me. "I'm positive I will like it here much more without them."

I turned away, needing to hide my much to happy grin -- though I'm positive he'd already caught it.

"Here we are," he said after a minute, and we finally entered the large study.

more to come guys! hope you like it, i've just started writing it so hopefully it wont be too long for inspiration to hit me :)