Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Twilight, nor any other thing but my own skin.

Crimson Rain

I stared out of the passenger plane window, out into the rain of Forks, Washington. Nothing was to be seen; only downpour coming down so hard that the ground seemed to be shaking from the impact. I sighed, getting up from my run-down seat to fish my bags out of a battered overhead compartment. Nice place, I thought, shuffling out of the door into the rain. Nothing like being greeted with ice-cold rain on your first day of work.

The raindrops hit my face like bullets; the wind whipped my hair across my face with more force than a hurricane. I flipped my hood up over my head, tucking my hair into it and clutching my bags even tighter. I had been the only person on the plane, and now I knew why. Why had I even taken this job?

By the time I reached the motel, it was pitch black. The only way to determine the way down the street was by looking at where the forest suddenly ended and the occasional car passed by. My hands were so numb that I had trouble using the key, fumbling with it until it finally slipped into the slot. As I walked into the room, I flicked on the light only to find out that it was so dim that it hardly made a difference. My bags dropped to the ground as I removed my wet clothes and climbed into the shower.

The hot water was barely warm, but my freezing body made no protest, as it was colder than the water itself. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I noticed that my cheeks were paler than usual, and my lips were blue. I crawled between the not-yet-warm sheets, and my eyes were closed before my head even hit the pillow.

My eyes opened to the dim light of a bedside lamp. I groaned as I sat up, my limbs stiff from the walk in the rain. My alarm rang loudly, piercing my ears with its volume. My head was pounding, and I tried to see my surroundings. I immediately took in the sure signs of the cheap motel; the lamps bolted to the tabletops, the stereotype paintings on the walls, the curtain patterns matching the bedspread. I took an aspirin to ease the pain, took up my pencil and paper, and headed out the door.

The fog was so thick that I had to check if I was going blind or not. I felt like I had a film over my eyes, or was looking at a gray piece of paper that was right in front of my face. The forest stared gloomily out at me, not a sign of life in them. I reached the edge of town, looking around to find the place deserted. Only the few shopkeepers were at their posts, reading newspapers and fixing shelves. No people wandered the streets, not even birds fluttered among the trees. It was almost surreal, having no people on the street. Not at all like home.

It was nothing like the bright sun of Los Angeles, California. Already I missed the cloudless skies, the dry air, even the days that were hot to the extreme. But I just had to take a career in journalism, had to pick up the first job I came by. Next thing you know, I'm sent to the most boring, gloomy, hazy town imaginable to write an entry column for the newspaper. How would I ever get a story here? It was barely a town at all.

I visited the town's police station only to find the policemen playing cards. They had only one jail cell, and the station was so small I was starting to feel claustrophobic. After about five minutes of questioning, I determined that absolutely nothing ever happened in this town, other than the occasional storm. I thanked them politely, and left the building.

As I walked down the street, there were a few more people strolling along, even a few cars driving up and down the empty roads. The stores were open, and the sun barely glimpsed through the clouds to peek down at us, taunting us with the thought of warmth and light. I attempted to make a starting entry for my column, but an hour later my page was still blank. As I walked into Forks High, I saw a few students, gathered around metal tables with their heads bent down to their work. I walked into the school's main office to find another person already there, speaking with a middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile. As the wind blew from the open door, my hair swirled around my face and ruffled the papers on the woman's desk.

The man stiffened and straightened up, turning sharply to face me. His features I barely had got a glance of as he strode out of the office at and amazingly fast pace. The only things that I could remember were his eyes. They were black – pitch black with what almost seemed a tint of burgundy around the edges. They seemed angry, furious even, as they stared at me, as if he thought me as a devil and was condemning me to a fiery death. A shiver ran up my spine as, for a moment, he gazed lividly down at me. The next moment, he was gone, leaving me in the office to speak with the woman. I shook my head and hurried to the desk to continue my questioning, but unease settled in my stomach, and I left before long.

As I walked home I glanced warily out into the murky woods, and they suddenly seemed menacing, reaching out to engulf me in their shadows and gloom. I forced my eyes to follow the road, to focus on something less ominous. But it was a long walk, and my mind had nothing to do but think. Thoughts swirled around in my head. The man's furious face, his fuming eyes, the menacing woods that threatened to envelop and suffocate me. They all swam in my head, making me unsteady and faint. The dirt ground seemed to fly up at me, and the breath was knocked out of me as I fell to the ground, to faint to stand.

Images danced in front of my eyes, to fast for me to comprehend. The whole world was spinning, and I felt like I was perched precariously on a cliff, looking down over the edge as I was just beginning to fall. My vision grew opaque, and I for an instant I saw a pair of eyes. Black eyes, with just a tint of scarlet around the edges. And then, all was a void of black.

I awoke to the feel of torrential rain, feeling soaked through and through. The darkness startled me, as it was now night. I felt like it was closing in on me, like the darkness was alive, sinister and mysterious. I staggered to my feet, feeling my way. I found that even my sense of touch was gone – I was numb. My fingers were without sensation, and I felt more lost than ever. I stumbled around blindly, not able to neither see nor feel. The farther I walked the more lost I became, until my sense of direction had completely vanished.

The trees around me were naught but vague shadows; the ground was littered with debris that seemed intent on tripping me up. The branches around me clutched at my sleeves and tore at my hair, forcing me to stop every few moments to untangle myself from one bough or another. I realized that the rain was no longer pelting me. I was underneath the cover of the trees. My eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the forest, and now, if possible, I could determine the faint outline of the objects that were in my path. Rain trickled slowly off of the foliage above me, and I grew damp even though I was under cover. My garments were of no help in warming me, for they were just as sodden and chilled as I was. There was naught to do but wait for morn and spend the night here – soaked, freezing, and alone.

I crawled underneath a large fern, large enough to shield me from the bitter cold of the rain. My fingers warmed minutely as I tucked them into the pockets of my slight jacket, leaving off shaking just adequately enough that I could reach up and draw the fern leaves lower over myself. Lying there, my mind whirled in a flurry of thoughts, making my mind muddled and confused. Only one thought grew bold enough and bright enough to register: I was alone. I would meet my death here, in this menacing forest with its ominous atmosphere. My mind refused to believe that I would die, and it pushed away the thought of death into the corner of my head, shoving it until it would go no farther. But it was still there.

I brought my knees up to my chest and cried, sobbing uncontrollably until my tears rivaled the force of the rain itself. My eyes began to sting, and I realized that I was no longer crying – my eyes were dry and smarting. I threw my head back in anguish, letting the droplets of water that had collected on my fern leaf drop onto my forehead and cheeks. I was alone, lost and alone. Or so I thought.

For the next I heard a rustle in the undergrowth to my right, and my head whipped around to peer into the darkness, seeking the source of this disturbance. Was it an animal, hungry and searching for food? Was it a person, come to retrieve me from my desperate state? I crouched tensely in the shadow of the ferns, watching and waiting.

To my surprise, it was no animal that leapt from the bushes, nor a man, but a thing with the shape of a man but the gracefulness and the strength of no human. With a shock, is realized that this was the startling man whom had glared at me through black eyes with enough force to burn one's very soul. He stood in the center of the small clearing of which my fern was on the edge of, and turned slowly to face me. I thought to cry out; to alert him of my presence, but some instinct inside of me stifled my cry and held me mute. And so I sat there, tense, in the shadows.

He stared directly at me, and my very soul shivered at his glance. And then he spoke.

" 'Tis no use, trying to hide. I can smell your tears, your essence, from underneath that meager shelter of yours." A smile flashed across his face before the stony mask reappeared.

His voice was fluid, sounded of generic car commercials and such, but with such a quality that it made me cringe away, afraid of something I did not know. He began to walk. His stride was fluid and quick, brisk. There was not enough time to realize that he had pulled me from under my shelter into the open, and was standing a few feet away. He stood straight in front of me, examining me with eyes of piercing black. I was immobile where I stood; I could not move a muscle, for I was frozen in shock.

His skin was paler than the any I had seen before, and it seemed to glow under the moonlight that was shining down from the gaps between the boughs above us. He was also motionless, and in this motionlessness, I was able to examine him. He was not human, I was sure of that, for he was so striking that he seemed inhuman. This creature, whatever he was, was lean and muscled, with grave face. I would have looked more upon him, but within the next second he was no longer there. I whirled, startled at the rapidness of his departure, only to find that he was now behind me.

"You know I am not human." He observed, casting his gaze upon my face, which must have been an image of fear. I nodded, frightened, my voice was wedged in my throat, and I was unable to speak. He nodded back, gravely, and licked his lips, as if thirsty.

"I once was a human, as naive as yourself. And I am truly sorry about what is about to happen." His voice sounded sincerely regretful, and he looked away and took a deep breath. "But you smell like nothing I have ever smelled before," his glance one more came to mine, and I saw that his eyes were pitch black, no longer hinting the ruby, "and your blood is mine for the taking."

I grew even more fearful than before, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. He glanced at me, most likely aware of the adrenaline rushing through my veins. He turned to face me, and he crouched like a predator about to leap at its prey. Which was exactly what we were: predator and prey. My instinct once more took over. I turned to run, thought I knew it was of no use, just as he leapt. I was pushed to the ground, and I screamed as I tried to twist out of his grasp. His hands were cold, and my skin burned wherever his touched mine. His hold on me grew tighter, and he sunk his teeth into my neck.

Red ran in ribbons down the tendons of his throat, soaked his shirt. His eyes were crimson, pure crimson without a trace of the former black. I saw the blood run into his mouth, and with a shock I become conscious that this was my blood running down his shirt. And then came the pain.

I had expected pain, but this pain was so acute that it dwarfed anything I had felt before. I felt like fire was burning through my veins, like an iron brand was being fed into my body. I could feel the fire spreading, through my neck, down my arms, down to the smallest fiber of my being. I heard screams and cries, and to my shock I realized they were my own. Suddenly I felt his grasp had left me, and I was free. Pain wracked my body to the point where I could not move, and I had enough consciousness left to watch my attacker. He stood straight and smiled. The blood drinker licked his lips clean of blood and said one word.

"Delectable."

With that, he was gone.

And now "my dear", I must say I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry, but I cannot help it. For you have the most delectable blood I have smelled in eighty years.