Chapter I, Part I: Where is Charlie Swan?

Disclaimer: I like to play pretend in the house Stephanie Meyer created but I really like to do renovations because I don't particularly like the finishes or the majority of the house (is that a witty enough way to say I own shit and think that the Twilight Universe has promise? Yeah, I think so).

Warning: This story contains Adult Content. Beware.

Summary: Charlie Swan went missing on the 12th of November 2005. There found no blood, and no body but the police had stopped looking. That's why I was coming back to Forks. I had to find my father. Follow Bella in this dark exploration of what the Twilight Universe could be when faced with the reality of wolves pretending to be boys, and monsters pretending to be high school students.

Missing Youth

by: brbbbe (Emily)

My youth, my youth is yours,

Trippin' on skies, sippin' waterfalls.

My youth, my youth is yours,

Run away now and forevermore.

My youth, my youth is yours,

A truth so loud you can't ignore.

My youth, my youth, my youth,

My youth is yours.

Troye Sivan - Youth

BELLA

Charlie Swan went missing on the 12th of November 2005.

His disappearance was noted eighteen hours after he was last seen. It was his neighbor, Delilah Short, who had made the frantic phone call to the police. It was not fifteen minutes until the street was closed, and the Swan home became a crime scene. People gathered outside the house, consumed by confusion and curiosity and gossiped. Had the Chief been murdered? Had the Chief left town? What happened to Charlie Swan?

It didn't take long until news crews took their spot in front of the white house. The only thing that stopped them from prying further was the yellow tape. They claimed that Charlie Swan, beloved chief of police of Forks, Washington, was missing. Charlie Swan, a man who ate at the lodge every Thursday and went fishing every Saturday morning, was gone.

The people watched with wide eyes as the prim reporters of Seattle described the scene. The reporters said it was gruesome. The reporters said the walls were covered in blood. According to the press, the furniture was overturned, and the framed pictures were smashed.

The simple people of Forks, Washington were divided. All 3,532 inhabitants of the small town had known their chief of police, and now he was missing. Correction: presumed dead. Some whispered that it had been a bear while others claimed that he had been taken. Some thought that he would be back, but others knew that Charlie Swan would never be back.

On the 13th of November, 2005, I was told that my enigmatic father was missing. The man who I saw every summer, and barely spoke to for the rest of the year, had gone missing. My mother was frantic. She ran around the house like a headless chicken, while I listened to the details. Once again, like everything in my life, I resumed the role of the adult. I gave consent to whatever they asked of me, and gave details of insurance. Being the adult was natural for me, and being the child was natural for my mother.

Charlie Swan was a man that played a minor role in my life. He was a shadow of my upbringing – the donor that gave me genetics and gave my mother something that tied her down. Charlie Swan was a barely mentioned faucet of my mothers past, and an invisible player in my present.

When summer came around each year, I would beg my mother to not make me go. I didn't want to spend my time in the cold, vapid air of Forks, Washington. I didn't want to eat at the lodge every Thursday. I didn't want to make small talk for twelve weeks. I didn't want to spend twelve weeks cleaning up my fathers life. For that was what occurred every summer; I would make dinner every night, except Thursdays of course, and the rest of my time would be relegated to figuring out what to do in a town whose main attraction was wood.

I hadn't made the long journey to Forks, Washington that summer.

I had told my father that with my senior year coming, I wouldn't be able to make the trip this year. I had too much to do, I claimed over the phone. Senior year was a big deal, with college applications and overwhelming exams. I had told him that the summer before my last year should be spent preparing. He had been disappointed, of course, but Charlie Swan understood completely. Or at least that's what I assumed, for he was never one to share his emotions. I had promised him that for Christmas, I would come see him.

I hadn't spent a Christmas with my father since I was five.

Now it was too late.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

My mother was a scatterbrained free spirit. She was a chameleon, ever changing and a constant non constant. I had realized this when I was eight after she had forgotten to pick me up from school, for the fourth time that month. I didn't mind it, though, even if it meant that adulthood had been forced on me much earlier than it should have been. I was eighteen by the time I was eight, and at eighteen, I was in my late twenties. But someone had to be the adult, and my mother wasn't going to give her childhood any time soon, so I adapted. It was the smartest thing to do.

I nodded, my teeth gnawing at my bottom lip as I adjusted the strap of my backpack. "Yeah, Mom. I am."

Renee's blue eyes softened as she stared at me, her hand coming to brush a raven curl from my cheek. The simple habit was enough to make me want to run back to our tiny Arizonan house, and abandon my plans. But I couldn't. Charlie needed me. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry you have to do this."

"Someone has to," I muttered, before looking to the flight board."I gotta go, Mom. I'm gonna miss my flight."

Renee bit her lip, nodding as she looked back to where Phil – her new husband – was standing. He had already said his goodbyes, and was giving us a moment of privacy. Phil was younger than my mother – he was closer in age to me than he was to her. It was unnerving, if I was honest with myself, but Renee was happy; happier than she had been before.

With a few more kisses, and parting words, I went off to my gate - not looking back at the mother who was being forcefully separated from her child. At least that's how Renee had described my ultimatum. I knew what I would see if I glanced over my shoulder – I would see something that would make me second guess my decision. My mother would be crying, sobbing most likely, and I would be consumed by guilt. But I had made up my mind. I was going to Forks.

I had decided to go back to Forks, without her, two weeks ago. The moment I had gotten the call that my father was missing, I had made my decision. I knew the only place that would hold answers was the place I had avoided for so long. I was eighteen now – a legal adult. Forks held nothing for me but my father. And if I didn't go there, and figure out what happened to my father, who would?

No one.

Forks is where people go to die.

Or at least that's what I thought.

Unless you were born here, willingly living here was almost unthinkable. And yet here I was, driving down the 101 in a rental car, to the place I had always been forced to come.

The sound of the windscreen wipers echoed through the silence of the car. The rain pattering on the roof of the crappy Mazda they had given me accompanied it. The radio constantly lost signal, so I had given up trying to listen to it ten minutes into the journey. It was strange, really, to watch the forest of green fly by without having my father beside me, asking me if I had cut my hair or not.

I tried to ignore the hole in my chest, aching slightly as I thought of Charlie … my dad. It's not like I had made the decision to come here rashly. It had taken a week of deliberating to know that I needed to come to Forks. Charlie was the only father I had, and would ever have. It didn't mean he was a particularly good, or attentive one, but he was mine. And I couldn't just accept his disappearance like my mother had.

Although the news had initially struck my mother with sorrow, and panic, Phil calmed her down quickly. It took two days before my mother sat me down, and told me that the likelihood that my father wasn't ever going to be found was high. That day I had looked at her without the love I usually regarded her with – the love that usually softened my mothers often blunt words didn't work this time. I wouldn't allow it too.

And so I had … lost it. I had thrown a tantrum suitable of a three year old, rather than an eighteen year old. I sobbed, and screamed, and spat, and swore. I wanted her to know how I felt, even if I didn't know myself what I felt. I wondered how someone could just give up on someone they had once loved so quickly. This was the father of her only child – how could she just assume he was dead? Shouldn't we at least try to look for him?

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts of my mother. My harebrained, eccentric, ever changing mother was not someone I wanted to dwell on. I loved her, but at this moment, love couldn't protect my thoughts of her from the resentment I felt.

And then, with a sudden urgency, I saw the familiar sign.

"'The city of Forks welcomes you'," I muttered as I saw the faded green of the aged sign. "Please enjoy your stay and don't die, even though Forks is a giant retirement home."

Welcome home, Bella.

I saw the yellow tape before I saw the familiar white slats of my father's house. My breath caught in the back of my throat as I pulled up to the house I was raised in – my home.

"Dad," I murmured, shaking my head as I got out of the car. Fingering the yellow tape, I felt my chest constrict. "What happened to you?"

I turned back to the car, my hand going to the keys to lock it, when I realized I didn't need to. I'm in Forks now, I thought with a bitter realization. My shitty Mazda would be okay unlocked.

Looking to the deserted street, I ducked under the weathered yellow tape and made my way to the porch. In the driveway sat an ancient red, and rusted truck – my Dad's infamous cruiser nowhere to be seen. Confusion consumed me as I surveyed the truck, wondering if Charlie had changed cars. I squished that thought immediately. Of course he hadn't. Charlie would never give up his cruiser.

The green of the porch had always annoyed me. I had once asked my Dad why he had painted the porch green, when they were surrounded by green everywhere. He never answered my question – just provided a shrug and a few muttered words.

That's who Charlie Swan was.

Charlie Swan was liked by all, but known by few. Hell, I didn't even know my own father. I didn't know how he and Mom met, nor did I know what made him laugh, or cry, or what made him … him. To me, and to everyone, it seemed, Charlie Swan was just as enigmatic as he had always been.

Despite the fact that I hadn't been here in eighteen months, I knew Charlie was a man of habit. In the hanging plant at the corner of the porch, there was a key. It had been there for as long as I had been alive. If Charlie Swan was anything, he was a man of habit.

Opening the door, I didn't know what I expected. I had heard what some people said – I had watched all the reports. Charlie Swan's home was supposed to be the scene of a major crime. The reports claimed that some had seen blood on the walls. The reports claimed that Charlie Swans home had been torn apart.

The reports had been wrong.

My father's house was how it always was. No blood on the walls, no carnage. It was completely how it always was. I almost half expected to see my Dad come through the kitchen, a beer in hand and the TV blaring with the Mariners on. I almost expected to have to talk about the weather outside as my Dad settled into his armchair.

I walked into the living room, my hands coming to spy the mantelpiece where the pictures where. I could see then where the damage was. Every picture that Charlie had of me was gone. The wooden frames that held my baby pictures, pictures of middle school graduation, shameful evidence of my puberty, were gone. The few rare pictures Charlie had of us – of him and I – were gone.

The glass coffee table was gone as well. If I analyzed the space where it once sat, I could see tiny shards of glass stuck in the carpet. It must have been smashed. I wondered what happened – if Charlie was sitting in his arm chair and the person that attacked him came through the back door. I wondered if Charlie had been thrown into the coffee table. It had been a wedding gift, I was once told, from my Grandparents.

"What happened here?" I asked myself, shaking my head as I looked at the mantle piece, to the only picture that was left.

It was my Dad, and Billy Black.

I searched my memory for the last time I had seen Billy Black. It had been two summers ago, and Charlie had dragged me down to La Push. He had gone fishing with Billy, and had forced me to hang around the Black house. When we had been driving down there, he had assured me that Jacob would be there.

"You remember Jake, don't you?" Charlie had asked, his moustache twitching. "He's grown a lot, I'll tell 'ya that. Kid looks like he's hopped up on some sort of steroids or somethin'. If Sarah was around still I can promise that she wouldn't be too happy about the crowd Jake's hanging with, but what can you do-"

"Don't you have jurisdiction on the Rez, Dad?" I had asked, confused as to why he wouldn't do anything about it.

"Sure," He had said with a shrug, "but you know how native councils can be. Don't want no 'pale faces' interfering, especially when it comes to the youth. I've been pretty lenient, but only cause Billy assures me that nothing bad is going on but you know what kids are like, Bells."

"That seems pretty stupid," I had said, only for Charlie to give me a look. "Don't you think? I mean just because the Rez has a council doesn't mean they're exempt from the law, and if you think some under age kids are shooting up or whatever, you should do something about it. You are the chief, Chief."

Charlie had smiled, and assured me that it was nothing that he couldn't handle, and just like that, the conversation turned back to fish fry. That's Charlie, for you. In a moment you could have an actual conversation with him, he would divert it back to something unimportant. It was like he didn't want to scare me off, and so he treated me like a porcelain doll to make sure I wouldn't run off.

Like my Mom.

Sometimes I wonder if Charlie had once been more open, and more willing to speak about actual problems with my Mom, but when she had left – taking his only child with her – he had stopped. I wish he hadn't, if that's what actually happened. I wish he actually talked to me.

Turning my attention back to the photo, I wondered why it was the only one that had survived, and all his photos of me had been destroyed. I had so many questions when I came to Forks, and it seemed just being in my childhood home seemed to give me a million more that needed answers.

Should I go to La Push and talk to Billy Black? He had always been a good friend to Charlie – maybe he knew something about it all. Should I go to the police station, to alert them to the fact that I needed to inhabit their crime scene? My chest tightened at the thought of actually living here, in this shrine where my father had lived for most of his life.

"You shouldn't be here."

I whipped around, my eyes wide as I saw three native giants glaring at me. My heart hammered in my chest like a hummingbird in a glass jar as I stared at the three men before me, wondering why they were here. But that question soon died on my lips as I analyzed the menacing beasts before me, whose dark eyes were burning holes into my face.

They didn't seem to hide their distain, whether it be for me or for the fact they thought I was trespassing. I wanted to tell them to get out of my house, as it was my house. But that would be stupid. These men, who towered over me like the giants they were, could easily squish me between their littlest of fingers. They were muscles and height; strength and power wrapped up in the façade of men. They were … something else.

I met the eyes of the leader – the man who asked me that question – and held his charcoal gaze. The eyes that seemed so hateful seemed so familiar in the same moment. I had seen these eyes before. I had looked into these eyes before. I wanted to drop my gaze as soon as I met his eyes – I wanted to crumble beneath the glare and the hatred that was being directed my way. It was then I felt the courage I rarely had flare up within me, and my lips move at their own accord.

"I'm Isabella Swan – you shouldn't be here."

A/N: So ... what do you think? It's the first time I've written something 'Twilight' in a long time. I've already written a lot of this story - 30k words to be exact, and that's just over the past four days. I've never written so much so quickly, so hopefully that means something. Review, fave or follow, please. I would love to hear feedback.

This is Alternate Universe, and the pairing is Jacob/Bella. But even if you don't like that pairing, there will be a lot of Cullen interaction as well, so feel free to stick around. At the moment there are three separate parts to the story, each containing ten chapters, but I think the third part will be around 15 or 20. POV will switch after the first ten chapters. Hope you like it, so please, maybe, review?